A Hundred Worlds
by Initial A
Summary: "And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you." A collection of 100 different AUs featuring the (romantic/platonic/antagonistic) relationship between Steve and Natasha. Chapter titles will reveal the AU setting. Rating subject to change.
1. Ride the bus together every day

**A Hundred Worlds**

**By: InitialA**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Marvel Universe.**

* * *

She first noticed him on the morning she forgot her book.

Maria always made fun of her for reading on the bus to school every day. "_1984_ and _Animal Farm _for a grade isn't enough, you have to read _War and Peace_ for fun?" Or something else, whatever she happened to be reading at the time. She had so much going on in her life. At the top of that list were her parents splitting up. Next came ballet and Krav Maga four nights a week. Then there were school obligations, like mandatory services. Whatever other extracurricular someone (read: Darcy) could talk her into came at the bottom. Natasha wanted just twenty minutes to herself every morning. Sometimes more, if there was a traffic jam. Okay, lots of times more; this was New York, after all.

But today she had been in a rush to get out of hearing range of her mother shouting at the lawyers (at 7am? Was it that much of a problem?). And she had forgotten to grab not only her book, but her phone sitting on top of it. Natasha's options for entertainment shrank. She could review for her trig test later, or observe the other unfortunates who had to take public transportation. She wanted to gag at the thought of more trig, so she took the second option. Her busmates were a ragtag group. People on their way to work. People needing something to do with their mornings. People traveling. A few other students; seven at most, which was unusual in this area of Brooklyn.

The bus stopped, and a boy got on. Natasha took immediate stock of him, as girls forced to attend private, all-girls schools tend to do. About the same height as she was, blonde crew cut (a little longer on top than usual), skinny in an unhealthy way. He stared at the floor the entire five seconds it took him to get to his seat, as the bus took off again. His backpack landed on the seat with a thump. Natasha thought it must have weighed more than he did.

The boy distracted her enough that a hand on her leg caught her by surprise. The man sitting next to her looked determinedly at his phone as his free hand slid up her thigh. She yelled at the top of her lungs about the pervert copping a feel, and slapped him. A man in the aisle forced the assailant up and towards the stairs. An older woman sat down next to her instead. Natasha forced a smile of thanks, and mentally scolded herself, her skin crawling. She glared out the window for the rest of the trip to school.

Jane was the soothing voice of reason as Natasha ranted about the pervert on the bus during homeroom. Pepper was full of plans of revenge. Darcy chimed in every other minute about her dad's promise of buying them all Tasers for their 18th birthdays. Natasha waved them both off. "It's… not fine, I'm just…"

"We've all been there. We get it," Jane said.

"Stupid uniforms…" Natasha muttered as roll call started.

Her bad mood stuck around all day; she glowered at the bus as it came up. She wasn't pissed off enough to walk all the way home, though. Not in her school shoes, and definitely not in the heat that was refusing to leave.

It was freaking October and it should not be 80 degrees. She attempted to read on the way home, but even in the best of moods _The Scarlet Letter_ wasn't a page-turner. She would have to reread it later, anyway, to highlight and write her literary analysis paper for the next day. Natasha stuffed the book back into her bag, and huffed, staring out the window, her arms squeezed across her chest. And she had to work on her lines for the play, and practice for ballet tomorrow night, or Madame would never let her hear the end of it…

The boy was waiting at the bus stop, the boy from that morning. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. He had the beginnings of a black eye; she didn't remember seeing that this morning. She glanced up at him as he walked past. His eyes met hers—well, eye, the other one swelling closed. It was bright blue. A look crossed his face, recognition. Her bad mood came back in full force when she remembered that morning, and she looked away with a scowl. She heard him, or rather his backpack, hit the seat a few rows back.

* * *

She remembered her battered copy of _War and Peace_ the next morning, and her phone. (Her mother had delivered a blistering lecture about forgetting it. _"Did you or did you not spend six weeks of last year begging us for this? Six weeks culminating with a PowerPoint presentation on why you should not be the only teenager in the New York Metropolitan Area without a smartphone?"_) Her headphones were on and her bag tucked next to her as a barrier on the bus seat. She opened her book and slipped back into the comfortable remnants of Tsarist Russia.

In the back of her mind, she counted the stops the bus made. She filtered out when they were actual stops (a sudden halt that left the inexperienced lurching and struggling to recover balance) and traffic stops (gentler movements, accompanied by the hum of blaring car horns in her bones). At the fourth stop, the seat next to her dipped as she got a companion for the ride. She glanced over through her curtain of hair: the skinny boy from yesterday, the area around his eye a shiny purple. Whoever had clocked him had clocked him good. Natasha scowled into her book and ignored him until his stop came.

She had play practice after school, and then went straight to ballet after. She didn't see the boy again until the following morning. He sat next to her again. She ignored him again. She scribbled notes in the margins of _The Scarlet Letter_ (she hadn't had time to be thorough the night before) until he left. She glanced out the window to see where he was going, but there were no obvious schools around. She shook her head, and continued to write.

It became an odd routine. They sat next to each other almost every day, never saying a word to each other. She subtly watched his black eye turn green-yellow, then fade. She took note of new bruises on his hands and around his face; he wore long sleeves all the time and she was never confident about why. She had a few good ideas, though. Sometimes he had a bagel with him, but for the most part he only came aboard with his enormous backpack and stared ahead until he had to get off. He didn't bother her, she didn't bother him. Some days, Natasha left her music off to see if he would try to talk to her, but he never did. One day, just to test things, she didn't even open her book, just leaned against the window. The boy was just quiet; he had an air of determination about him, with a bit of apprehension. She wondered if it was because of school, or something else.

She wished she had the guts to ask him.

Just before Thanksgiving, it started to snow. By now, Natasha was more or less used to her strange Bus Companion (Darcy referred to him as such, capital letters implied). Her Bus Companion struggled onto the bus one day in a worn coat, scarf, gloves, and the kind of hat that would make a Bolshevik proud. Natasha caught herself smiling in amusement as she looked at him, and then made herself stop and look back at her book. She'd finished _War and Peace_ and had now moved on to _Anna Karenina_. She glanced at him as he sat down, his backpack almost breaking the floor as it crashed down. There was a faint smile on his face. He glanced over at her; for the first time in weeks, their eyes met, and her eyes darted back to her book.

* * *

"Oh my God, just talk to him," Pepper scolded over lunch. She was continuing the conversation from homeroom. Natasha had insisted it wait until Maria could join them at lunch.

Maria said nothing, but Natasha knew the expression on her face. "Shut up, Maria," the redhead said.

Maria just smiled.

* * *

It took another two weeks for her to get up the guts to say anything to him. If she was honest with herself, it would have been longer if she wasn't tired from school and extracurriculars. As it was, saying anything just before winter break seemed bad enough. As the boy sat down, Natasha closed her book with determination. "Hi," she said.

The boy blinked, startled. He started to look around before realizing that she was, in fact, talking to him. "Hey." His voice cracked a little.

Natasha resisted the urge to laugh. "I've been trying to figure it out for weeks. Where the hell do you go to school?"

The boy gave a shy smile. "FDR. I'm a junior. You?"

"Bishop Kearney. Same."

"Private school."

"Got a problem with it, public school?"

"No, no. I'm an idiot; the uniform should have given it away."

"Yeah, well…" There was a moment of uncomfortable quiet. She pursed her lips. "Why do you sit next to me every day?"

The boy tilted his head in confusion. _'In for a penny, in for a pound_.' Natasha thought. "Is it because of that creep back in October?"

"I'm sorry. I thought… I mean, I wouldn't presume, but… I figured I'd…"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"I just figured, a girl should be allowed to mope, or read ridiculous tomes, in peace. At least for six stops."

Natasha's eyebrow ticked in amusement. "They're not tomes."

"Yeah, I'm gonna call bullshit on that one."

"This one's like, half as long as the last one. And I haven't even touched _Les Miserables_ yet."

"It's a little more than half, and _Les Mis_ is only like, 50 pages longer than _War and Peace_."

"You're revealing yourself by knowing that, you know."

The boy grinned. One of his front teeth was a little crooked. Natasha surprised herself by thinking it was cute. "Steve Rogers. Since you asked," the boy, Steve, said.

"Natasha Romanoff. Two f's, no v."

"That explains so much."

"You're a little punk, you know that?"

"And now you know why I get my eye blackened every other week."

Natasha laughed outright. Steve's smile widened. "I would think you'd have learned to duck by now," she said.

"I don't like bullies. You don't win by ducking," he explained.

"You don't win by going blind either."

Steve shrugged. "There are all kinds of ways to win."

"You're a bit of a weirdo."

"Says the girl who reads 19th century Russian literature for fun. Don't give me that look; everyone takes comprehensive American lit junior year. I know that's not on your reading list," Steve said.

She was, in fact, scrutinizing him. She fought the urge to punch him on principle. He looked out the window, and started to get up. "Almost my stop. See you later?"

Natasha thought it was odd he would ask at this point, but nodded. He grunted under the weight of his backpack. "What do you have in there, anyway?" She asked as he went to the stairs.

"You get punched into your locker twenty times and see how fast it gets jammed for good," he called over his shoulder as the bus stopped. "Later!"

She watched out the window as he walked down the block. _'Steve Rogers... what a weird kid..._'


	2. Camp counselors plus Steve's got game

Peter vaulted out of the bunk above Steve's at reveille, and grabbed his towel off the line that was strung between two cabents. "COME ON!" He shouted at the other boys.

"Pete, you even got your shorts on?" Harry grumbled, stuffing his head under his pillow.

"He slept in them," Steve said. He was putting on his staff shirt; his hair stuck up at odd angles thanks to a shower after his dawn run around the camp. It was also his turn to hose down the kids at polar bear, and he had to leave now or face Nick's wrath. "Boys, up and at 'em. Either go to polar bear or hit the showers. Breakfast's in thirty, and if you're not ready you get to walk through girls' camp in your skivvies."

Peter sprinted across the Polliwog field and through Tadpole territory towards the pool. Steve followed at a more leisurely pace. It was only day two of this two-week session, and Peter showed no signs of slowing down in his Excitement About Summer Camp. Tony, still stretched out in his bunk (though the blankets were gone), stuck up his first three fingers as Steve waved at his cabent. Flipping the bird was frowned upon at Camp Summerwind. The three-fingered salute was one of the few time-honored workarounds passed down through the generations of camp counselors. Steve just shook his head.

He started jogging when he saw the line of kids waiting outside the pool gate. Technically polar bear didn't start for another five minutes, but there was a heated rivalry around these parts that was Serious Business. There wasn't a prize for it, only a matter of pride: Girl's Camp vs. Boy's Camp in a battle to the death of who could get the most people out of bed and into a pool before 7:15am. So far it looked like there were more boys than girls, but the boys had the home field advantage, as the pool was closer to them.

Steve unlatched the gate and slipped in among a chorus of whining. "Easy, fellas, two minutes. Let the girls catch up."

"Ew, no way!"

"Why would we do that?!"

Steve shook his head, and went to the pool house to get out the hose. "Don't worry, Rogers, cooties go away eventually," Natasha's voice rang out from atop the lifeguard stand as he bent down to grab the bundle.

Steve straightened and shielded his eyes against the morning sun. Natasha was redoing her ponytail, backlit by the sunrise. She looked beautiful. "Not soon enough. Any problems last night?" He called, taking the hose to the spicket.

"MJ tried to put out raccoon bait, and Kate wouldn't stop shining her flashlight at the ceiling and counting the spiders, so America and Kamala kept screaming about spiders all night... You know, the usual Monday."

"I'm so glad boys like bugs."

Natasha shook her head, and Steve finished hooking up the hose, turning the water on and waiting for Bruce and Jane to open up the gate. "You ready?" The other teen called.

Steve nodded, and in came a flood of preteens. Steve dutifully sprayed their feet free of grass and mud; some of them he sprayed all over just because it was fun to watch them pretend to get mad about it. "It makes the pool warmer!" He called.

The kids screamed about how cold the pool was anyway.

Darcy came to stand next to him as her girls got their feet sprayed. She had piled her mass of brown curls on top of her head; she looked like she hadn't slept at all. "You alright?" Steve asked.

Darcy shook her head. "Skunk fight."

Steve winced. "Anyone get hit?"

"No, thank God, or we'd all still be bathing in tomato soup."

"I thought that didn't work."

"Whatever. I hope I don't ever have to find out. Anyway, the girls weren't exactly sleepy after that... Giggle, giggle, giggle all night. Maybe nodded off around three."

"Sorry, Darce."

"I'll live. I just need some tea-WALK DON'T RUN!" She and Steve shouted it at the same time as Wanda's girls came sprinting through the gate. Natasha was a beat behind them, on the other side of the pool.

Wanda, her red hair a lion's mane around her face, grimaced outside of the fence. "Sorry."

"Hair tie?" Darcy offered one of the dozens on her wrist.

"_Thank you_," Wanda exhaled, grabbing it as if her life depended on it. "Little demons hid my hair kit, I can't dig through their trunks until first period."

"Jesus, what'd you do to them to make them hate you already?" Darcy asked, giggling as Steve sprayed one of the new boys in the butt.

"Oh please," Wanda made a face before flipping her hair upside down to tie it up. "I'm the best, they just haven't realized it. And at this rate they never will."

Natasha blew the two-minute warning whistle, causing a chorus of whining from those still in the pool. Most campers were happy enough to abide by the polar bear rivalry rules: jump in at least the shallow end and it counts. There were always about twenty kids who were part-dolphin, though, and often had to be dragged out of the water and down to the mess hall. Natasha's mornings on duty tended to clear out fast though; she was scary when she put her mind to it. "Go get dressed for breakfast!" Darcy yelled.

One of the kids was asking for a hand up from Bruce; Bruce shook his head with a knowing look on his face. "Don't even try it, kid. Ladder's right there."

Steve turned off the spicket and sprayed one of the girls still lingering in the water until the hose ran dry. The girl screeched. "You heard the whistle, get out and go get dressed!" Steve told her, grinning.

"You're a jerk, Steve!"

"You're already wet!"

She stuck her tongue out, then swam to the edge to hoist herself out. Darcy just laughed. "Discouraging crushes early, I see."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Steve's face was the picture of angelic innocence as he rolled up the hose again and stowed it.

Natasha came up to them, playing with the key ring coiled around her wrist. "Morning. Can I lock up, or are you looking to rent?" She teased.

"Lock away," Steve grinned and blew her a kiss. "Good morning."

Darcy gagged. "Please, I haven't had any caffeine."

"Rogers, knock it off," Natasha scolded, locking the pool house and leading the way to the gate.

"You really shouldn't have encouraged me, I'm completely hopeless now."

Natasha rolled her eyes, and looped her arms between both Jane's and Darcy's. "Come on, before he gets any more ridiculous."

"See you in a few," Steve told them, and joined Bruce on the walk back to the boys' tents.

Tony was awake; alert was another matter, if the two nine-year olds attempting to climb up on the roof of their cabent was anything to go by. Steve plucked one from the shoulders of the other while Bruce administered the scolding, and then walked up onto the pad to smack Tony upside the head. "Morning, champ!" He bellowed.

"_Ow_. Also _loud_. The heeee-eck did I ever do to you?" Tony censored himself quickly.

"Almost got two kids with broken necks. Come on, round 'em up and move 'em out."

"Need sugar," Tony said, a hint of a whine in his voice.

Steve opened the trunk at the foot of Tony's bunk and pulled out one of his Secret Stash: Kool-Aid powder, sugar included. "You can have all you want at breakfast," he tossed the container to Tony, who fumbled it.

"Too far."

"Too bad. Boys," Bruce raised his voice and Tony's campers came scurrying in. "Tony here needs dragged to breakfast. Care to do the honors?"

The boys gleefully yanked Tony up and frog-marched him down the path to the road. Tony hollered over his shoulder, "YOU ARE BOTH TRAITORS TO THE CAUSE AND I HATE YOU!"

Steve and Bruce just laughed and went to gather their own campers.

* * *

The crowd outside the mess hall buzzed at the smell of Charlie-the-cook's famous cinnamon rolls. Natasha and her girls found Steve and his boys near the porch. "I wonder what the occasion is?" Natasha mused. "Charlie usually saves these for the last Saturday."

"Maybe he had a bunch of eggs that were going to go bad," Steve suggested, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

Natasha's girls giggled. "Are you her booooooooooyfriend?" One of the girls, with long wavy dark hair, asked in a sing-song voice.

"Yes, I am," Steve said proudly, and kissed Natasha's temple with a loud 'smack'. Natasha gave him a mock-annoyed look. "Mac, don't listen to him, he's not. He's only dreaming."

"Mac?" Steve asked.

"Miss America Chavez," the girl, presumably America, said, her chest puffed out. "That's me."

Steve noticed Peter looking up at Natasha shyly. "You alright, Pete?"

The boy turned bright red and nodded. "Yu-huh."

Harry was in an intense debate about something with Billy, Teddy, and David. Some of Natasha's girls were jutting in with their own arguments. Steve figured they were alright for now. "What's your schedule today?" He asked Natasha.

"Maria has me down at the boating lake all morning, and it depends on what the lake-lake is doing for the afternoon," Natasha said. "If it stays quiet like this they'll probably bust out the big banana."

The kids turned towards her at once at the words 'big banana'. "What's that?" David asked.

Natasha winked conspiratorially. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you."

The kids went wide-eyed, and debated this news in hushed voices amongst themselves. Steve chuckled. "Rope swing this morning?"

"Only if they put another guard down there. I'll probably be roasting on the docks by myself."

"I'll swing by and keep you company."

"I'll push you off the docks," Natasha threatened. "And I'll leave you for the snapping turtles."

Steve put his hand over his chest. "You don't love me anymore. Pete, you take her, she'll be nicer to you."

The boy turned red again, and shook his head so hard Steve feared he might sprain something. Natasha punched him in the arm; Steve winced. "No teasing, that goes double for you. Or I'll for real push you off the docks."

"As opposed to for fake?"

The kitchen crew threw the doors open, and there was a surge of humanity towards the food. Steve's boys tried taking their chairs down early, but he reminded them to wait until after the blessing. He exchanged a secret handshake with his best friend Bucky as he passed with his boys. "Thursday, we're heading out for the night, you up for it?" Bucky asked.

"Jim and Sue's?"

"Is there anywhere else to go?" Bucky grinned.

"Well… Wal-mart," Steve said with a grin of his own.

"Nah, we'll save that until Stark runs out of mini-muffins."

"Which will be next week."

"Exactly. Spread out the love, man," Bucky went to his table, three rows back. He was a Frog counselor, or the oldest boys at thirteen and fourteen, while Steve had Polliwogs, who were eleven and twelve.

Nick came up to the mic and gave the morning blessing. This gave way to the clatter of chairs being taken down from the tables, and then the kitchen crew came out with the hot food. While it was good manners to let the boys have first dibs on the food (their parents were the whole reason he had a job, after all), it was common knowledge that it was every man, woman, and child for themselves on Cinnamon Roll Day. As there were only six of them, Steve managed to get everyone to have one cinnamon roll and divided the other two. Harry said he could wait for the refill; he glanced at Peter as he said that. Steve then glanced in the direction of Bucky's table. The way Harry watched out for Peter reminded Steve of the way Bucky had watched out for him when they were kids.

The meal was about halfway over when a ruckus erupted from Bucky's side of the room. "TENT 43, WHERE ARE YOU GOING FIRST PERIOD?"

Tent 43 was Steve's. He looked over and saw Bucky grinning. Steve deliberated with his boys; they were fairly similar in interests, so they quickly decided. Steve counted softly for them, "One, two, three, PROBABLY ARCHERY OR SOMETHING. WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?"

A few moments passed, then Bucky's table responded with "WE'RE GOING ON A CREEK HIKE. COOL KIDS ONLY."

Steve's boys looked at him with pleading, puppy-dog eyes. Steve grinned. "Alright, alright. Sounds good, meet at the horse barn. One, two, three, SOUNDS GOOD, MEET AT THE HORSE BARN."

There was an eruption from Bruce's table, a few feet away. "HEY CAN WE JOIN YOU GUYS?"

Steve and his boys debated on a response for a moment, but Bucky's table responded first. "WE SAID COOL KIDS ONLY."

There were shouts of outrage from Bruce's boys. He corralled them long enough to try to plan a response, but Tony's table shouted, "WE'LL HANG OUT WITH YOU, TENT 47."

"WILL YOU GUYS SHUT UP? WE'RE TRYING TO EAT OVER HERE." A table of girls shouted from the other side of the dining hall.

Steve looked over. It was Wanda's table. She waved cheerfully; he blew her a kiss back. "How many girlfriends do you _have_, Steve?" Billy asked.

"All of the girlfriends," Steve replied, taking a bite of cinnamon roll, savoring the flavor.

"_All_ of them?" The boy asked, incredulous.

"Yup. Sorry, kiddo, the ladies love me."

"Whatever. Girls are dumb," Billy muttered, stabbing his cinnamon roll with more force than necessary.

"Some girls are okay," Peter said, looking towards the girls' half of the hall.

This resulted in a lot of teasing, and then a lot of Harry threatening the other boys, and then Steve telling them that they could forget about any creek hikes if they didn't straighten up. This shut them up quickly. Steve used the moment of silence to divvy up the cleanup chores, and sent them on their way.

Nick came up to the mic again after cleanup, and started the morning announcements. There was indeed a nature hike along the creek that would take up the entire morning. The boys were restless during most of the announcements, so Steve missed most of them, including that day's art project. He liked hanging out in the craft shed, it was peaceful. And Peggy let him bring in his boom box and play CDs while he helped the kids.

Don, the waterfront director, led them all in a rousing rendition of "I like big boats and I cannot lie" before announcing that the rope swing would be open at the boating lake. Steve glanced over at Natasha; she was conferring with one of the other lifeguards. Don continued, saying that the morning at the lake-lake would be dedicated to "sandcastles and swimming, on such a fine morning" but after lunch they'd be introducing the big banana. This announcement concluded with a conga-line of most of the activity directors leaving the hall, chanting "BIG. BANANA. BIG, BIG BANANA."

"What's the big banana?" Teddy asked.

Steve only winked, holding a finger to his lips as Maria concluded the morning announcements and dismissed them.

* * *

"And you made fun of my Crocs," Steve said as Bucky winced his way back up the hill to their tents.

"I wasn't expecting the flip-flops to break…" Bucky muttered.

"They were five bucks at Old Navy, dude, what'd you expect?"

The creek hike had been successful; no boys had been lost to the wilderness, many a crawdad had been caught and released again, and Bucky's shoes had broken on the trip back, making him walk barefoot along the side of the creek. "Crocs are fuckin' dumb, man."

"I will fork over the money for them myself so your princess feet don't get torn up more," Steve joked. Bucky pretended to stumble, shoving Steve into the railing of the stairs, causing him to laugh. "Jerk."

"What time is it?" Bucky asked.

Steve checked his watch. "We've got like, twenty minutes before the period ends. You've got time to wash off the leeches and poison ivy before lunch."

"Your mouth is writing checks your ass can't cash, man."

Steve grinned at that. "What, you think I'd've changed by now?"

"Oh don't even pretend with me, I know what you're doing. The stairs split here. Go on, go down to the boating lake and woo your girl. I'll get back to the camp or die trying," Bucky gave an exaggerated sniff. "Just remember me well, if the bears do come for me."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Drama queen."

"Go get her, lover boy."

He waved Bucky off and set off at a trot down the trail to the boating lake. He came out of the woods as a car horn was blaring and Nick's truck rolled past on the road that separated the woods from the lake. Steve waved, and then ran up the knoll to where Natasha was standing. "Hey," he called.

She caught the rope as it swung back and a child cannonballed into the lake. The girl resurfaced with a shriek, and strove back to shore, driving herself into the mud at the bank with the force of her strokes. Natasha glanced at Steve over her sunglasses. "Aren't you supposed to be up a creek without a paddle somewhere?"

"Got back early. I thought you were on the docks."

"I was, but I switched with Gwen because there's shade here," Natasha said, helping a boy up on to the swing stand. "Alright, see how many times you can get through the alphabet before you hit the water," she told him.

The boy froze for a moment, then his face went hard with determination. He jumped from the stand, clinging to the rope, zipping through the alphabet as as he could. At the top of the rope's arc, Natasha shouted, "DROP!" and the boy let go. He dropped seven feet into the water, and resurfaced with a gasp. "Five and half!" He shouted.

"I counted four," a girl on the shore said.

"Four and a half," her friend said.

The boy growled as he swam to shore. "I'll go again, and you'll see. Five and a half."

Natasha shrugged. "Get in line and try again. The record is eight, and no one has broken it in twenty years."

The kids goggled at one another. Natasha winked at Steve over her sunglasses and he chuckled. He watched as the kids gleefully went sailing through the air. "No turtles today?" Steve asked as the boy who laid claim to five and a half alphabets went again.

"They're probably scared and at the other end of the lake, over by the willow trees."

"Ah."

Gwen called in all the boats with the megaphone, and Natasha cut the rope-swing line off. "Go on, dry off and get back up the hill. Lunch in forty minutes."

As the kids trudged off, Natasha stripped off her shirt and shorts, and kicked off her flip-flips. Steve's eyebrows went up. "Did I miss a memo?" He asked. "Not that I'm complaining, I mean, don't get me wrong."

She glared at him, dropping her sunglasses on her clothes. "I'm hot, Rogers. Overheated, though we both know I mean it both ways."

She stepped up onto the rope stand, and went sailing through the air, letting out a Tarzan yell that made any remaining children stop and look back as she let go. To Steve, time slowed down for a moment. Her arms arced above her, her red ponytail streaming and glinting in the sunlight, as her outstretched limbs came together in a cannonball. Steve remembered to breathe only when she surfaced, shaking water out of her face. She grinned, and swam for the rope, swinging helplessly above the water. She grabbed it, and came to shore. She held out the rope to him. "Let's see you fly, Rogers. I'll spot you."

He blinked, and then shrugged. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it next to hers, kicked off his Crocs, and took the rope. He caught her looking him over, and raised an eyebrow. She raised one of hers in return. He got up on the stand. "Alphabet or Tarzan?" He asked.

"Alphabet."

"Shit."

He took a deep breath and jumped, rattling off the alphabet as fast as his tongue would let him. He heard Natasha shout, "DROP!" and he let go. He was airborne for a few seconds, and then he landed hard in the water. His back was on fire. He scrambled for the surface, gasping and coughing. He saw Natasha doubled over with laughter. Steve bobbed for a moment in the water, still in shock from the landing, before he remembered the snapping turtles, and made for shore. His feet dug into the mud, and he collapsed onto the grass. "Oh my God…" he mumbled.

"I'm sorry," Natasha gasped, wiping tears away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing… Are you okay?"

He felt her kneel next to him. There was a light touch on his back. "Does this hurt?"

"The whole damn thing stings… Was it that bad, really?"

"It was amazing," she said, and started giggling again. "You were like a baby giraffe, all limbs and no coordination. The best backflop I've seen in years."

"I hate you."

"You love me. You'll be fine, you're just really red."

She dropped her towel on him, and moved away. He got up, dried off, and put his shirt and shoes back on. He threw her towel over her head as they walked to the path in the woods. "How many times did I get through the alphabet?"

"Four and a half."

* * *

The Mystery of the Big Banana was solved after the rest period, when Don revealed to the kids that it was a giant inflatable banana that seated eight. A jet ski tugged it down the coast and back. There was a song that went with it and everything, and Don made everyone sing it the entire time they were on the banana. Steve knew this already, and gladly missed the occasion to spend the hot afternoon in the craft shed, painting sun catchers with the kids and playing "The World's Greatest Air Guitar Album" on repeat. Okay, he did more air guitar tutoring than actual painting, but art was versatile. He did regret not getting to watch Natasha on the back of the jet ski, but there would be other banana days.

After dinner, they had an all-boys-camp activity: dodge ball in the Polliwog field. Steve tried not to groan; his back still stung from earlier. "I'm gonna go play Quidditch with girls camp," he said during the downtime after dinner.

"Nooooo, Steve, you're HUGE. We need you on our team!" Teddy pleased.

"I'm huge?"

Teddy held up his arms, trying to make a muscle. He was still small and scrawny, though, so it didn't work out so well for him. Steve nodded in understanding. "Ah. See, that makes me a target, not an offensive player."

This turned out to be more or less true, with Steve resorting to deflecting as many balls as he could to the boys on his team, and ducking a lot. "If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball!" Tony, on the opposing team, yelled over the line.

Steve threw his ball, his only means of defense, at Tony, and got him out.

* * *

Thursday rolled around, with anticipations skyrocketing for their night off. The all-camp activity that night was an enormous game of Capture the Flag, and it shocked Steve how dirty the girls played. A couple of the bigger Nymphas and Butterflies managed to drag the smaller boys into girls' territory for imprisonment. Granted, Steve wasn't one to talk, especially when Wanda was taunting him in No Man's Land and he resorted to tackling her, picking her up and carrying her, fireman-style, into the boys' territory. Wanda's campers were screeching about cheating the whole time, while the boys hooted and hollered. Wanda ran to join the human chain.

The "prison" was the tree by Polliwog Lane. The girls formed a human chain, hand to foot, to No Man's Land. Technically not illegal, as long as one person still touched the tree, but proved frustrating when a swift Caterpillar girl ran in and slapped the hand of the Butterfly at the end of the line, freeing thirty players. This caused enough distraction and mass confusion in boys' territory for Natasha and Darcy to lead in a legion of ten swift Butterflies and Nymphas with almost no repercussions to capture the boys' flag. When the boys chipped away at their numbers, they managed to hot-potato the flag all the way back to the line for a victory.

After that, Steve hit the showers and changed. He retrieved his phone from its secret hiding place (phones were contraband except on nights off and weekends). He welcomed the kid from kitchen crew who would be taking his boys for the night. "I'll be back when you wake up," he promised Peter, before he left. "As long as you go to sleep, that is."

Peter nodded, and Steve strolled off to Frog Point to meet up with Bucky. He turned on his phone and scrolled through the various texts that buzzed in. Tony was already at the Point, waiting, and together they set off for the staff parking lot. "Real food. Real soda," Tony kept saying.

"Yeah, yeah," Steve said distractedly, wondering just how many texts his mom could send before remembering he wouldn't get them on time.

To Steve's surprise, Natasha was sitting on the hood of Bucky's pickup, playing on her phone. "You didn't mention her coming," he accused, his voice soft.

"Like you're complaining," Bucky retorted.

"The hell you got a truck for, Barnes?" Natasha called. "You hauling logs or some other outdoorsy shit?"

"Get the hell off my truck, woman! No respect, I tell you," Bucky patted the hood with affection as Natasha slid down. "She doesn't care about you like I do."

"_She_ liked your hippie van better. More room," Natasha said.

Tony called shotgun, so Steve and Natasha wedged themselves in the back. "Where we going?" Natasha asked.

"Jim and Sue's."

"Please, can we stop at a McDonald's? I am jonesing for some fries."

"It's amazing how low your vocabulary drops when you aren't around the kids," Bucky commented.

"Fuck off, like you're any better."

Tony pointed an accusing finger back at her. "_She_ gets to make requests! Mini-muffins! Wal-Mart!"

"You should ration your shit out, Stark, this ain't no joyride," Bucky scoffed, starting the truck and heading out of camp. "Wal-Mart is next week. Besides," he grinned in the rearview mirror. "She said 'please'."

"Mama taught me manners," Natasha said.

Tony grumbled, and changed the radio station. They traded stories on the ride into town, making each other laugh until they felt sick. It was the weirdest thing, Steve thought, not for the first time. Save for him and Bucky, none of them would have probably become friends had they not gotten this job. But, with three summers under their belts, they were inseparable. They had inside jokes and lingo that no one outside of the camp staff would even begin to understand. Camp legends about Nick and Maria, the directors of boys' and girls' camps, respectively; Bucky swore that last summer Nick would just appear in places when Bucky was breaking curfew. Tony agreed, saying it was like Bloody Mary. "Say his name three times, and there he is."

"Maria's the same," Natasha insisted. "One time, I swear to God, I was working the archery range, and she just walked out of the supply closet. Unless she's got some secret teleportation shit going on, I have no idea how she got there."

Bucky pulled into Jim and Sue's, a local restaurant. Steve told Bucky to get his usual while he called his mom. The reception was shoddy, though, so he only managed to talk for a few minutes. They came back with their sandwiches, and Bucky let the tailgate down on his truck. "See, no logs," he told Natasha as they hopped into the back. "How's your mom?" He asked Steve.

"What, you got it to sit in?"

"She's good."

Bucky shrugged, and bit into his sub. "For whatever I need it to be," he said, his mouth full.

Natasha made a face, and speared a meatball with her fork. Steve sat on the tailgate, as opposite from Tony as he could get; Tony was making obscene noises of appreciation at his 'real food' and 'real soda'. Natasha, perched on the wheel hub, caught his eye, and they laughed. When they finished, they sat or lay in the bed of the truck, appreciating the semi-rural night's silence, unbroken by the sounds of children. "I like the job, but I'm so fucking glad they pay me," Tony said at one point, and they all understood.

Then, Bucky said they had to get going if they wanted to stop at McDonald's before they broke curfew. They all scrambled to get back into the cab. Natasha yawned as Bucky started the engine. She leaned against Steve. He put his arm around her. "You two cozy back there?" Bucky asked, catching Steve's eye in the mirror.

"Peachy, thanks," Steve nodded.

"Just fries, Nat?"

"And a lemonade."

"Sizes?"

"The biggest fry I can legally obtain in the state of Pennsylvania, and a small drink."

"That is oddly disproportionate," Tony said.

"Jonesing, Stark. Jonesing."

They drove for about ten minutes before they found any golden arches, and Bucky ordered. Natasha slid him five bucks. "Ah, fuck. Shoes," Bucky said as he pulled around to the window.

"You're the one who didn't want to go to Wal-Mart tonight," Steve reminded him. "The shoeless heathen remains for another week."

Tony huffed, and put his feet on the dashboard, arms crossed tight across his chest. "I have no sympathy for you."

Bucky scowled for a moment, and then turned on the charm for the girl working the window. He passed Natasha back her bag and her drink. "Wow, when you said 'small' I didn't think you wanted a Dixie cup," Tony remarked as they pulled out onto the road.

Natasha looked at her very small cup of lemonade and tried to keep a straight face. "This is quite possibly the smallest size legally for sale in the state of Pennsylvania."

"With the biggest straw they could find," Steve remarked.

"Seriously, like there wasn't a smaller straw for the kids menu? I'm almost afraid to take a sip. It'll all be gone in one fell swoop."

"They thought about giving you the regular small, but they thought you deserved a little more," Tony quipped.

"The biggest small they could find, just for you," Bucky said.

"I'd retort, but I need to take a drink from my enormously small lemonade," Natasha took an exaggerated sip. "Seriously, I think I drank it all right there."

Steve opened her bag and took out a few fries. "Thanks," he told her.

"Hey! There'd better not be any wiggly ones in there!"

He opened his mouth so she could hear the crunching. She made a face. "You're disgusting, I can't believe I ever considered kissing you."

"Say whaaaaaaaat?" Tony twisted in his seat to look back at them.

"You are such a gossip," Natasha shoved him.

Steve made a good show of pretending he was a normal human with a regular pulse. "No, no, go back. You were saying something about kissing me."

"Nope, forget it. You're a fry-stealer. Fry-stealers don't get kisses from hot lifeguards."

Steve pouted. Natasha stuck her tongue out, and ate a handful of fries.

Back at camp, Bucky led the way through the woods with his 'enormously small' keyring flashlight. He stopped at the stairs to the girls' camp. "You need us to walk up with you?" He asked, gesturing with the flashlight.

"Nah. I'll be alright. If you don't see me at polar bear, assume I broke my neck and feel horrible about not insisting on escorting me back to my tent, though," Natasha teased. She held up her phone, proving she had a light.

"Will do."

Natasha punched Steve in the arm affectionately as Bucky and Tony started down the path. "Good night, loser."

"Night, O Queen of Tiny Lemonades."

He waited for her to start climbing up the stairs, and then jogged to catch up with the others. "You get any sloppy French-fry-breath makeouts?" Tony asked.

"Nah."

"Shame," Bucky said.

"I've got you guys for that," Steve said.

Tony scoffed. "Please, I specified French-fry-breath. Try another time."

"If you're offering." Steve's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket. '_I'm not on duty Saturday_ _xo Nat_'. He smiled to himself, and shot back an affirmative reply. "Besides, I've got all summer."

* * *

_((This is entrenched deeply in, and pulls heavily and truthfully from, the ten summers I spent at summer camp up. A few points of clarification: A cabent is a cabin-tent hybrid. Solid roof and corner posts over a cement pad with canvas flaps that can be rolled up or down depending on the weather (and trust me, it's frickin' hot when they're down) Charlie-the-cook's cinnamon rolls are real, and I am sad for you if you have never experienced them. There was a short blessing before every meal, because it was a YMCA-run camp, but they did their best to be nondenominational; we had kids of all and no faiths, so Kamala being at the camp wouldn't have been strange. There was a larger lake for the lake-lake, and we had a separate, smaller lake for canoeing and the like. And rope-swinging, complete with turtles.))_


	3. Police procedural

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

Detective Natasha Romanoff sat in the back of the courtroom, her knuckles white as she clenched the hem of her skirt. As the verdict came down, not guilty, she stormed out before she could hear anything else. Her heels clicked on the marble floors, echoing a warning to anyone who might get in her way.

The entire city could have burned from the fires of her rage. The entire city could burn down right now, and she wouldn't care. She had no love for a city that didn't care that Clint Barton was dead and buried, that employed judges who freed his murderer.

She had no love for Assistant District Attorney Steven Rogers.

She got into her car. She drove for hours. Most of it was a blur; it was a miracle she didn't end up dead herself. She found herself at her favorite gun range, firing clip after clip downrange in her stocking feet until her arms shook from the kickback.

Natasha Romanoff was a decorated officer of ten years, and a registered gun owner since the day after her eighteenth birthday. It took a while for her arms to start shaking.

When she finally brought the last target in, took off her mufflers and took out the earplugs, he was leaning against the back wall. "What the fuck are you doing here?" She asked flatly.

She hated that her ammo was gone.

"I saw you leaving the trial. I wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid. Though with what you must have paid for all that…" Steven gestured to the shells littering the floor. "I can't be so sure."

"No, what the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here? As in, why are _you_ here? As in, why did you think I even wanted to see your smug fucking face right now?" She spat.

Their relationship was rocky at best and downright homicidal at worst. Their coworkers couldn't understand how two people who were, at the bottom, very similar could hate each other so much. Natasha could rattle the reasons off in her sleep. He came from a good family; she'd been raised practically on the streets. He was idealistic, she was jaded. She tended to bend the rules when working. He had a problem with that. They fought about it. Often. There were too many things they didn't see eye to eye on, too many years of bitterness and arguments; more often than not, he was a good ADA to have in their department, but there was a mutual understanding that they keep their distance from each other and they'd work together fine. And right now, more than anything she hated that he still cared enough to make sure she wasn't putting a bullet into someone's brain.

"Because your partner's dead," Steven said, and Natasha closed her eyes. "Because if Clint were alive and you were this angry about a verdict, he'd be here instead of me."

"You don't get to say his name," she whispered.

"We worked together for twelve years, I think I do."

"You let his murderer walk."

"You beat him within an inch of his life before arresting him, Detective," Steven's voice was hard. She turned away. "He didn't need a good lawyer to clear him after that, he just happened to get lucky on that front too."

Her fist came fast. He was faster; he caught her arm and twisted her around, putting her under pressure. She winced and attempted to hit him with her free hand. He pinned her other arm down. "Do it," Natasha hissed. "I've already lost everything else. Clint, my badge, my job…"

"Internal Affairs is still reviewing your case, and you'll probably get psych. You haven't lost your job yet," Steven said. How it must have grated him to say that; IA letting bad cops walk free was his pet peeve. "You might get stripped down to Detective Third Grade at most; they know what losing a partner does to people."

She twisted, trying to get free; she only hurt herself further. Her eyes stung with tears unshed since that night four months ago, when Clint bled out in her arms on the docks. "I hate you," she whispered, her voice choked.

"I know."

He let her go. She rolled her arm in its socket. She stalked over to her shoes, and grabbed the empty gun from the counter. She walked towards the exit. "Romanoff."

She stopped. "He wouldn't want you to be like this."

"Go fuck yourself, Rogers." She left him standing amongst the empty shells.

* * *

_((Unsurprisingly, it's super hard to write them as antagonists, but that was the request))_


	4. Ice cream parlor

"You're actually judging me for this, aren't you?" Natasha asked as they got out of her car.

"No! Well… a little bit. Kind of," Pepper said, smiling ruefully. "If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn't if you'd just ask him for his number already."

"Thanks," Natasha drawled. She yanked open the door to the parlor. "I feel so much better, really."

An ice cream parlor has this scent that instantly puts you at ease. The crisp air conditioning mingling with years of sweetness eased the knot in Natasha's chest. The young man at the counter looked up as the tinkling of the bell faded. His lopsided grin caused a thousand butterflies to hatch in her stomach. "Hey! If it isn't my favorite customer!"

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Natasha said with a smile of her own as she and Pepper slid onto barstools at the counter.

The young man, Steve (according to the nametag on his crisp, blue pinstripe shirt), picked up two old fashioned milkshake glasses. "Only redheads."

Pepper and Natasha glanced at each other. Pepper smiled coyly and took out her iPad. Natasha looked back at Steve. "We haven't even ordered yet."

Steve tweaked his bowtie as he posed dramatically with the glass. "A good scooper knows his customers. You, my dear, have a weakness for chocolate malts. Your friend likes vanilla milkshakes with extra rainbow sprinkles, and never, ever even let the shake breathe near the strawberries."

Pepper raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed. I think I've told my boyfriend six times that I'm allergic to strawberries, and he's still surprised when I get mad that he buys the wrong jam."

"Customer satisfaction rule number thirty-eight: remember allergies."

He turned his back to them as he went to work. Pepper quickly typed something on the iPad, and then angled it towards Natasha. "ASK HIM. MAKE THE CALORIES WORTH IT"

She side-eyed her friend; they both did enough kickboxing to make up for the… Natasha winced as she realized just how often she came to the parlor. No wonder he recognized her, let alone remembered her usual order. Pepper was furiously typing again, and angled it towards her again. "SERIOUSLY. IF YOU DON'T, I WILL"

Natasha made a shooing motion with her hand, while asking Pepper aloud how her preparations for her MBA thesis were coming. Pepper gave her the evil eye, but launched into a detailed description of all of her plans for her final project. Getting the finer details correct was enough to distract her from the subject of the ice cream man; and Natasha had heard most, if not all of, these details at one point or another over the last several months. It allowed her to let Pepper's voice become soothing background noise as she made noncommittal noises of concern or agreement, and Natasha could covertly keep an eye on Steve as he finished their shakes. He brought them over with a wink. Natasha smiled, hoping she wasn't blushing. Pepper managed to squeeze in a word of thanks between two other ideas.

Pepper was in the final rundown of her thesis when Steve brought over the check; it was an old-fashioned parlor, no credit cards were accepted, and all the checks were written by hand. Natasha mouthed a 'thanks' as she took it. "Whenever you're ready, just holler," Steve said. "I've gotta run to the back real quick."

She nodded. Pepper finished with a flourish as Natasha flipped over the paper. She blinked. Pepper, being Pepper, noticed. "What?"

Natasha showed her. In precise handwriting, there was only a note that read '_Would you care to go out on the town this weekend? I'm off at 6 on Friday. Call me. –Steve_' Below it was his phone number.

Pepper let out a little shriek of victory, and slapped Natasha's arm. Natasha just grinned, shyly biting her lip.


	5. Surprise 1

Scenario at the end, to not ruin the surprise; also, trigger warnings at the end.

* * *

She's curled high up in her perch. It's dark; the lighting is spotty, and the fog is rolling in quite thickly. She keeps low, to avoid making herself a target. She has to use her ears more than anything else to track her enemies, but sometimes they're stupid enough to let her see the scant light reflecting off their armor.

It's easy pickings then.

There's screams all around her, the screams of the dying, the wounded, the survivors full of regret. She tunes it out; she learned to long ago. Her emotions shut down hours ago, leaving her in a place of cold calm, with precision focus for the job at hand.

Her eyes detect movement in the dim light. Someone is stupid enough to raise their head above cover; she takes aim and pops off two shots in rapid succession: a kill shot, and a spare, in case she was foolish enough to miss the first time. She pulls herself back behind the safety of her hideout. She does some quick math in her head to determine how many remain. '_Only two_…'

"Where is she?"

She hears a voice, male, below her perch. She goes still; only those familiar with the terrain would know to look up, at alone find the hidden way to her hiding place. Another voice, this one also male, responds. "I saw her once, but she's a ghost. She could be right behind us, and we'd never kno—FUCK!"

He's down with a shot to the chest before he can say anything else. Natasha eyes the last man. She can't see much, but he's panicking, looking around helplessly. He never thinks to look up; his gun is also at his side. He's too distressed to think to drop it. Her mouth curls into a wicked smile. She decides to toy with this one.

She fires off two shots, one to each hand. The man cries out, dropping his weapon. She slides down her perch soundlessly, dropping behind him. Her leg snaps out, sweeping his legs from under him. He lands hard; she shoots his legs. He can't get up. He manages to turn over. She can see his eyes reflecting the scant light, his features twisted in fear. "Natasha… Please…"

"It was never just a game, Captain," she whispers.

"Natasha!" He screams as she shoots his chest, point-blank.

**Miss Romanoff has captured a complete victory.** JARVIS' voice echoes through the chamber, and the lights come up slowly.

"Jesus Christ, that was the scariest shit to watch," Tony says from his seat on the floor.

Natasha tucks an errant hair behind her ear, only smiling. Clint gives her a high-five as he comes over from where he'd been sitting out for the last half-hour. "Nice shooting, kid."

Steve gets to his feet; she notes that his hands are shaking slightly from the scare she gave him. "Holy shit."

She reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, and brings him down to kiss him on the cheek. "Sorry. I got caught up in it."

* * *

Scenario: Domestic Avengers + battle to the death in laser tag

Trigger Warnings: guns, war games


	6. Mother's day

"Daddy, Daddy, I hafta talk to you about a secret!" James yanked on the bottom of Steve's shirt.

"What's up, buddy?" Steve turned in his seat, bracing himself on his knees to get on eye-level with the five-year old.

The boy glanced across the table to his mother. "It's a _secret_. Momma can't know."

Natasha hid a smile, and pretended to be very absorbed in typing up reports for Fury. The funny thing about kids was that they understood the idea of whispering, but most of the time they lacked the ability to put it to any use. James led Steve into the hallway; Steve returned alone five minutes later. "Mother's Day is on Sunday," Natasha commented, her voice laced with innocence.

"I've been pinky-promised not to tell," Steve held up his hand to show his honor, "but I promise you that I'll make sure nothing explodes."

"I knew there was a reason I asked you to marry me."

* * *

On Sunday, Natasha woke out of habit at dawn, when Steve did. She rolled over, propping herself up on one arm. Her husband was sitting on the edge of the bed running his hands through his hair sleepily. "Hey," her voice was husky with sleep, "only I'm allowed to do that."

He twisted, and smiled. He fell back on his elbow, and kissed her. "Good morning. Happy Mother's Day."

"Thank you. What are my orders, captain?"

"Your job is to stay in bed until James says so. It's also preferable if you pretend to be asleep when we come in."

Natasha wriggled back under the covers, her head sinking into her pillow. "I think I can manage that," she said with a happy sigh.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Some days I don't know if you love me, the kid, or the bed more."

"Don't be stupid. Of course I love the bed more. The bed doesn't talk back to me. Although, if you stayed in it with me, I'd love you equally," Natasha smirked.

He kissed her forehead. "As tempting as that is, neither of us wants the house destroyed. But I'm taking a rain check on that offer."

She watched as he got up, threw a shirt and pajama bottoms on, and left their room. The actions reminded her that she should at least put a tank top on before she got too comfortable. Natasha did try to doze off again after donning the shirt, but her brain was awake at this point, and she knew better than to give in to that futile exercise. Instead, she grabbed her book off the night stand, and made it through two chapters before she heard the tell-tale noises in the hall of her boys coming to surprise her. She slipped the book back onto the table, threw the covers over her head, and pretended to be asleep.

The end of the bed dipped as James climbed up on it, and crawled up to the head. He pulled the covers back from over her head and lay next to her. "Momma, are you awake?" he 'whispered'.

She opened one eye. "Steve, I think we need to call the exterminators. The bedbugs are getting too big."

James burst into giggles. "Momma! It's me!"

She wrestled him into a hug, and kissed the top of his head. "Hi monkey, what are you doing in my bed so early?"

"HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY MOMMA!" He shouted; Natasha winced from the volume directly in her ear.

Steve set a tray over her legs as she sat up. "We maded you breakfast, Momma. Well… I pushed some buttons and cracked the eggs, but Daddy said I can't use the stove yet. And Daddy said I hafta wait until I'm bigger to carry the tray, but it's taking an awful long time," James said as he sat against the headboard next to her. Steve slid in on the other side.

"French toast and eggs over-easy, my favorite. Thank you, monkey."

Steve grabbed the bacon slices. "Good, because the bacon's for me."

She sipped at the coffee. James yelped and scrambled off the bed. "There's a present too!"

He bolted out of the room in a flash; they still weren't sure how many of their combined super-genes had been passed on to the boy, but he showed enough signs that they knew the answer wasn't zero. "James, baby, breakfast was enough, you didn't need to get me something," Natasha shouted after him, glancing over to Steve; her husband couldn't lie worth a damn, so his innocent face was just that: innocence.

James appeared in the doorway again, holding a clumsily wrapped box and wearing a pout. "But Uncle Clint said."

Natasha's eyebrows went up in understanding. "Did Uncle Clint take you out shopping, too?"

"Yuh-huh. And he showed me how to wrap a present." The redheaded boy climbed back up on the bed and presented the box to her happily.

That explained the rest. Clint's expertise lay in _un_wrapping presents as gleefully as possible. Her brow furrowed as she started opening it; Clint's expertise was also in presents the giftee wasn't always thrilled with. She opened it with some trepidation, and found two things: the first was one of those kitschy "hopeful message" decorative boards she hated. This one had a little poem on it:

_Good Moms Have  
Sticky Floors  
Messy Kitchens  
Laundry Piles  
Dirty Ovens  
And Happy Kids_

Natasha's mouth gritted into a smile; Steve was turning purple with his effort not to laugh. The second thing was an obnoxiously yellow t-shirt with a woman in a pink bathrobe and pink curlers in her hair, and a speech bubble that read "I'm the Mommy, That's Why". James was beaming. "Do you like it, Momma? Uncle Clint said they would be _perfect_."

She pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head. "It was very thoughtful of you. Did Uncle Clint buy these?"

"He said it would be "his gen-u-ine plea-sure"," James fumbled over the words.

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh from Steve's side of the bed; Natasha ignored him. "You know what? Why don't you go get my phone, so I can call Uncle Clint and thank him myself?"

James beamed and bounced off the bed again. Steve managed to make it until James was out of earshot before succumbing to the laughter. "I will actually kill that man," Natasha announced. "The worst part is, he can't do it to you! You'd eat up all the stupid Father's Day stuff. Golf pens, ties, World's Number One Dad mugs…"

"That's because I _am_ the world's number one dad," Steve wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. "The look on your face…"

"Clint's just lucky he's in Mumbai and is only getting a middle-of-the-night wake-up call…" Natasha muttered. "Wait until he gets back…"

* * *

Happy Mother's Day! And yes, that's James Rogers from the Next Avengers movie. Awful movie, great fodder for shipping.


	7. Flight is Ridiculously Delayed

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Rogers, there's nothing we can do but wait. It's a mechanical error, they're fixing it as fast as they can," the passenger service agent said.

Natasha pursed her lips but only thanked the woman before heading back to her seat; she was having enough trouble keeping all of the other passengers happy, adding to her woes wouldn't make her job any easier. "We're stuck," she told Steve as she sat down.

"I told you. We just have to wait. It'll be fine," Steve didn't even look up from his iPad; he was currently trying to beat Sam's high score for that Candy Crush level.

Natasha leaned against him. "This is not how I envisioned the first night of our honeymoon…"

"We'll still get our honeymoon, Nat."

"Minus twelve hours or however long…"

"Hey," Steve put down his game and lifted her chin to meet her eyes. "It'll be fine. I know, you had to pull a lot of favors to get this much time off, and I am unbelievably grateful for it. And I will spend however many hours it takes to prove that to you," his voice dropped, "even if it means we never leave the hotel room. And if having our flight delayed four or six hours means I have to spend eight or twelve extra hours making that up to you…"

He smirked, and went back to his game. She punched him in the arm before leaning against him again. "Sure, get me all hot and bothered…"

She got bored watching him take ages to decide on his moves (seriously, this wasn't chess, Steve) and took out the book she'd brought in the misguided thought that she'd ever get any time to read over the next ten days. Another hour passed. The airline brought out the free drinks—Natasha was bitter about the lack of booze—seriously, it was her honeymoon! Sex and alcohol! If she wasn't getting the former, she damn well better be getting the latter!

Somewhere around hour three of the delay, Natasha found herself on the floor, feet propped up on her seat, her book over her face. "The protagonist is a moron. Who wrote this book. Why was it approved. Who funded this."

Steve squeezed her ankle gently; she jerked involuntarily—she was ticklish. "Why did you buy it, then?"

"I didn't, I swiped it out of Pepper's bookcase."

"Then it serves you right," Steve said, and then ducked as said book was whipped at his head.

Hour four saw Steve joining her on the floor. They both dozed off during hour five, and woke up in a panic during hour six. Once their personal belongings were accounted for, Natasha glanced at the clock and saw that it was now after midnight. "We're never leaving this airport," she declared.

Some of the other passengers had, at this point, opted for a rescheduled flight. Most of those passengers were the ones with children, so it was blessedly quieter than it might have been otherwise. Steve and Natasha had the gambler genes though: once you were in this long, you played until you were out. The jackpot would hit as soon as you left.

Natasha dozed, curled in the crook of Steve's arm, as he thumbed through the BBC News app. "Attention, ladies and gentlemen, we will now begin boarding flight 689 to Santo Domingo. We appreciate your patience with the long delay."

Natasha stirred. "What time is it?" She mumbled.

"Almost two."

"Christ…"

"Eight hour delay… so that's sixteen hours of making up we've got ahead."

"You are annoyingly optimistic sometimes, you know that right?"

Steve kissed her nose before he sat up. "And you married me anyway."

"Don't think I won't keep track."

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

Sorry it's been a few weeks since the last update; I'm actually working on a much longer chapter (not even halfway done and at 3k), but research and real life gets in the way of actually writing. Here's this small bit to tide you over until then. Thanks for reading!


	8. Mermaids

She knew these waters well. The headland dropped quite sharply into the sea, the shallows littered with sharp boulders. There was one dock, near the base of the cliff that only the most experienced landsmen would scramble down on their ungainly human fins. Boats were useless in these waters, so the men only came to swim, or to try to catch fish.

The rocks gave her plenty of cover to listen to the stories of men. If their tales were true, the land of men was full of monsters twelve feet tall, all claws and shark teeth, and all of them somehow slain using only a stick and the largest rock a man could lift. Sometimes she'd wait until she knew they were silly from their drinks and give enough of a flash of her tail (black with orange fins) to give them cause to screech and gawk like seagulls—for there were tales about her too, and she liked to hear the misconceptions of the landsmen. The tales of merfolk who kept the souls of drowned men were her favorite. She wouldn't know where to keep a drowned soul if she had one.

Sometimes, one would come alone. Maybe it was what the landsmen called a 'bet' (she heard that word often, and it often involved one of them doing something rather stupid for a reward) He would talk to her, and sometimes she came out of the water to talk to him. He would seem nice, and she'd feel a connection, a bond begin to form… but he'd never return after that one visit. She wondered if she was altogether uninteresting, that the men who talked to her never returned. Or perhaps she wasn't as beautiful as the mermaids they thought they knew of.

What did men know about the merfolk, anyway?

Then, a new man. This man would only come alone. He came alone very often. His hair was the color of the sand on the shoreline, his eyes the color of the sea during a hurricane. He was small for a human man, but larger than she. He never said a word, only sat on the dock and watched the waves for hours. She would watch him too.

She wondered if he ever knew the sea could look back.

One day, some tides after this strange boy began his staring contest with the water, she spoke first. She'd never done that before. She stayed under the dock, asking if he was lonely.

He was.

She wondered if he wanted company.

He wouldn't mind it.

Was he going to be very afraid of her?

_No_.

He said she was beautiful. She smiled at that; of course she was. She was more beautiful under the water, but he couldn't swim.

What was a landsman doing, living near the sea when he couldn't swim?

He was afraid.

The water was dangerous, she couldn't fault him for that. Sharkfolk scars ravaged her chest; he turned a funny color and looked away when she gestured at her bosom. No man had done that before, but she realized that this one was still very young for a human.

They talked about her home, how he wanted to see it. She said that he could only see it if he learned to swim. He promised he would, just for her.

She didn't see him for many tides. None of the other men who came to see if the mermaid of the headland was real were as intriguing as the one with sand-colored hair, so she left them alone. The stories of men were boring her now; she swam for miles every day, searching for something to sate her. She was impatient. How long did it take for one human to learn how to swim?

Finally, he came back. He was nervous, but he sat on the edge of the dock with his feet in the water. She smiled; he hadn't noticed her teeth before.

How else was she supposed to eat?

She reached out for him. He reached for her. How far was it?

Not far. Maybe twenty leagues.

Maybe this one would stay.

* * *

((Natasha is a red-tailed black sharkmaid))


	9. Met on the Same College Tour

The Tuesday they met held the promise of the summer to come. April is a funny month like that; it's half-winter some years, and in others it's almost July. This year had been mild, and this day in particular was perfect: sunny, warm in the sun but not too cool in the shade, cotton ball clouds in the sky that hinted at the storm the forecasts were calling for that night. Steve Rogers was sixteen, about to finish his junior year of high school, and thoroughly over this "let's-spend-spring-break-on-college-tours" road trip his mom had planned.

To be entirely fair to his mom, they were only spending not even half of spring break on the tours. They'd already toured three state universities and two private ones, even though they could never afford private school on their own ("Oh, it doesn't hurt to look, Stevie." "But what if I love it? It hurts then. The G.I. Bill won't pay forty grand a year for _art school_, Mom." "If you really love it, we'll figure something out, sweetheart.") This, the fourth state school, would be the last one before they went home, if their tour guide would ever show up. Steve fidgeted. His mom was absorbed in the latest round of pamphlets (they were the same for every school, he'd found, with different pictures and color schemes), and she'd made him leave his sketchbook in the car again, so he had no other choice but to look around at the others waiting for the tour to start.

The group contained four other teenagers, and about six other adults; one man would duck in and out of the room so often that Steve wasn't sure if he was part of the group or not. There were two other guys around his age, one girl, and the last had their hood up on their jacket and he couldn't see any obvious signs of gender—which might have been their point. The other teens were on their phones; Steve was apparently the only person over the age of fifteen in the country without a smartphone, something he was determined to rectify this summer. He was getting ready to get up and walk around the hallway to relieve the fidgets when a peppy blonde girl with a too-high ponytail bounced into the room and greeted them all cheerfully. She apologized profusely for the wait, and asked everyone to follow her for the start of the tour.

As they made their way through what the guide referred to as "Old Campus", Steve found himself lagging at the back of the group as he took everything in. It was just after noon, so it seemed like a good portion of the students were either on their lunch breaks or just between classes. There were guys playing lacrosse, girls laid out on the lawns using their backpacks as pillows and doing their reading, skateboarders, hacky-sackers, guitars being played, faculty debating papers as they walked to the student union for Starbucks. "So, do you think they're being paid to look like a brochure, or is this real life?" A low voice, female, asked on his left.

Steve glanced over; it was the kid with their hood up. Wavy red hair spilled out of it; the hooded green eyes cued him in to the bored tone of voice. "Aren't you hot?" He asked, gesturing to the jacket.

A shrug was his answer. He glanced around again. "I dunno. It seems a little too perfect to be real, but I doubt they'd pay everyone to put on this kind of show. Leonberg didn't do it, and they can definitely afford to."

"The hell are you doing here if you can afford to look at Leonberg?"

"It was a strict look-but-don't-touch trip. Mom insisted."

A snort. "At least your mom cares. Mine's off at some country club or other… The idiot who keeps vanishing on his cell phone is my dad."

She must have meant the man he'd seen earlier, who was now leaving the group frighteningly often. "Is he always like that?"

"More or less. But he's the one paying, so he gets the final stamp of approval or whatever…"

Steve could sense this would only continue to go south, so instead he said, "I'm Steve. Rogers. Steve Rogers."

Their eyes met for the first time. "I'm Natasha. Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff," she said. Her smile made him wonder what kind of secrets she had.

"So, uh… you have any serious plans yet, or are you just shopping around?" Steve asked as the tour group cut across one of the Frisbee lawns.

Natasha shrugged again. "My old man wants me to be an early decision, but at this point I couldn't give a damn. I'll probably tack all the brochures in a mess on the wall, toss a dart at 'em, and apply to the only one it lands on."

"You don't have a specific program in mind?"

She just stared at the ground in response. Steve bit the inside of his lip, and listened to the guide talk about the ghost that haunted the theatre in the old University Hall. She mentioned at least four other supposed hauntings, including the chapel in Old Campus and one of the sorority houses, and Steve made a note to investigate these findings. Not that he was really into ghosts, but the stories often gave him interesting ideas for art projects. As they continued past the amphitheater, Natasha spoke again. "Are you shopping around? Or are you doing anything specific with your life?"

"Art school," Steve said without hesitation.

He saw her look up at him out of the corner of his eye. "Seriously?"

"I'm good at it. I want to get better. I want to follow my passions."

"And you're not worried about starving to death after college."

He just smiled. "I figure it's worth it to do what I love, rather than hating myself for taking a safe path."

"Oh."

His mom looked back just then and smiled. He nodded in acknowledgement. She winked tilting her head slightly at Natasha. Steve turned red; Sarah Rogers smiled wider and looked ahead again.

The guide took them through a few residence halls, even a mockup dorm room. Then they went to the art buildings. Plural. Steve tried not to gape as the guide went on about the emphasis the university placed on the arts, both visual and performance. The music building was across the street, and the main fine arts building was to their right, but the building in the center was the latest addition to the arts program. It housed the larger concert halls for the performing arts students, as well as larger galleries and exhibition hall for the fine arts students, and now housed the digital arts program. They walked through the main fine arts building and Steve worked not to drool at the industrial kilns for ceramics, the furnaces for the glassblowers and the metal shop for the jewelry and sculpture students. His knees went weak at the old turpentine smell in the studios, the high ceilings and tall glass windows providing all kinds of light no matter what time of day. He was assured that as a fine arts student he would practically be living in this building, and that most students and professors had made it comfortable to nap between classes—even if that meant you had just finished your final at 6am and were presenting it at 8am.

Steve found himself rooted in place as the rest of the group began to leave the building. He stared up at the hanging sculptures, the collection of pottery, and the children's books made by digital arts students in collaboration with an English class in the display cases.

He didn't want to leave. He knew he'd found the right place.

"Steve? Honey, what's the matter?" His mom was lingering behind him.

"I'm sorry I fought with you about this trip," he said, feeling very far away.

She came to stand next to him, and hugged him around the shoulders. "Come on, sweetheart. We might as well see the rest of campus now; I have a feeling you won't see a lot of it when you start."

They left, and Sarah was wise enough to the ways of teenagers that she let him go and walked ahead of him as they hurried to catch up with the tour group again. The guide had stopped at the street and was talking about something else. Steve's mind was back in the art building, and he wasn't taking it in. There was a sharp jab in his side, and Natasha was looking at him expectantly. "You looked like you were in love."

He smiled. "I might be."

The group started moving again. "Well, congratulations. You've just decided where you're going to spend roughly one hundred thousand dollars over the next four to six years."

Steve gagged a little. "I'm so glad the government is paying for that…"

"Whoa, how'd you swing that?" Natasha asked.

"Dad died in Afghanistan," Steve said; he tried not to sound so clipped or off-hand about it, but it was always a little bit weird to talk about his dad.

He missed her wince. "I'm sorry… That was really stupid of me."

He shrugged. "It's okay. It was a long time ago… I honestly don't really remember him much."

"So that makes you what… Seventeen?"

"Sixteen. My birthday's in July."

She actually patted his cheek, the tension breaking. "Aww, you're a young'n."

He scowled. "I'm still graduating next year. What about you, grandma?"

"My birthday's in November, but I'll be eighteen. So you'd better shape up, sonny, or I'll have to take you over my knee."

The wicked look she gave him made his face turn purple. She giggled as the group came to another stop. "This is the last stop for the arts program, rounding out our performing arts with the dance studios," the guide was saying. "There are eleven studios and two gymnasiums that are shared with the cheerleading squad, dance corps, and winter guard."

Natasha raised her hand. The guide pointed at her. "Yes! A question!"

"What kind of dance program do you offer here?"

Steve looked at Natasha in surprise. The guide beamed. "Excellent question! I don't get many dancers in my groups, I'm actually a dance major myself! We have an extremely competitive program. We do have an audition process that begins in July…"

Natasha listened with rapt attention as their guide waxed poetic about the program. Steve snuck a curious glance in the direction of her father; he wasn't on his phone for the moment, but he didn't look very pleased about his daughter's inquiry. Steve wondered how that conversation would play out later.

* * *

"And this concludes the tour!" The guide thanked them all with the same level of cheer she'd managed to keep up over the last ninety minutes. Steve still wasn't sure if it was her natural state, or if she put on extra effort for work.

Sarah came over to her son. "Well, should we go look in the bookstore? Are you hungry?"

Steve shrugged. "I guess so. If you want to, anyway."

Sarah looked at him skeptically. "You were doing so well at not being a teenager earlier… Come on, let's go get something to eat; I'll drag you shopping after."

"See you around, Steve Rogers," Natasha called after him.

Steve looked back as he and his mom headed into the student union. He lifted a hand in goodbye. She returned the gesture as her father finished his phone call and came over to her, looking none-too-happy.

It was a long drive back home. Steve only had his learner's permit, so he wasn't used to driving for very long stretches; he was also partially night blind, and wasn't allowed to drive after the sun started to set. His mom talked a lot, keeping them both awake as they entered the final stretch. They talked about scholarship deadlines and when they'd need to get in touch with the VA to get the ball rolling on the G.I. bill. Steve's head was spinning by the time they made it back to their apartment complex. "I still don't see why I need scholarship money if the government's footing the bill…" He grumbled as his mom unlocked their door.

"Because it won't cover everything. We're lucky Sam was able to even transfer the benefits to you. There are plenty of scholarships available for military brats, we just have to talk to Sam about where to start looking," Sarah said. There was a note of finality in her voice and Steve knew to let it drop.

This was a conversation they'd been circling around for longer than he knew his mother was comfortable with. Military benefits had undergone so much change in the past decade that it had taken a long time for the Rogers' to get their proper dues from his father's death in the war on terror. Even with his mom working as a registered nurse, things were tighter than she would have liked when Steve was growing up; Steve had known it, and had made the decision on his own to tighten his belt so they weren't always strapped for cash. Sam had helped out when he could, but he had his own family to look after.

Sam Wilson had been an old buddy of his dad's in basic training, and had done a lot of legwork for Sarah in getting the survivor's package squared away. He'd made sure that Steve would be taken care of as a dependent. He went to work at the VA after his discharge, and had been around a lot for Steve's growing up; his partner Mac and their young daughter Aisha were like family. It was a little strange to think that one of his best friends was a man who was literally old enough to be his father, but life was weird like that sometimes.

Steve's phone rang. The little green-and-black screen let him know it was his other best friend, Bucky. He remembered that he had forgotten to text him to let him know he'd decided on a school. "Hey, man," Steve answered. "Guess what?"

* * *

That summer, Steve and Bucky worked long and hard hours for Mac's landscaping company. He hadn't ever realized just how much work went into planting some trees and throwing some mulch around a garden. Some clients needed a week to get things just right. Steve would come home every night sore and sunburned, dirt stuck under his nails, feeling the ghosts of spiders crawling all over his skin (big spiders _really_ liked living in mulch, he'd discovered; he'd also discovered that Bucky _loathed_ spiders. The two discoveries were, surprisingly, related) He'd have enough energy to shower, eat whatever his mom put in front of him for dinner, and collapse into bed.

It was worth it at the end of the summer, though. Steve had managed to save a not insignificant amount of money, and purchase his iPhone. Bucky's big purchase was a '04 Ranger. In truth, it was Mac's old pickup, and Bucky hadn't _bought_ it so much as worked without pay for the entire summer in exchange for it, but he was proud of it anyway.

It was a wonderful thing, not going to school on the bus. The first day of school, Steve noticed that he was getting a lot of looks from the other students; Bucky had to point out that Steve had actually gotten buff over the summer. Between his sun-bleached hair, tan, and the wiry muscles, he was something of a looker. It helped later that, in December, he finally hit his growth spurt.

Mac kept them on during their senior year, helping with leaf collection, then snow removal, and then back into planting and landscaping through the spring and summer. Between school and working, the year melted away and he found himself in a scarlet graduation gown. He, Sarah, Bucky, and Bucky's mom went dorm room shopping; Bucky, having no particular ideas about what he wanted to study, had applied to and been accepted at the same school Steve was going to. They weren't allowed to live together (something about wanting the freshmen to expand their horizons or whatever, Steve had been too irritated to read more than that), but they at least were in the same dorm. Steve's roommate was some guy named Tony Stark; Bucky's was a guy named Clint Barton. Steve and Tony had e-mailed a few times to get to know each other. Tony was a mechanical engineering major, lived for rock music, and was a self-described womanizer. Steve had a feeling it was going to be an interesting year, to say the least.

* * *

Sarah smoothed his hair, unshed tears in her eyes, and hugged him again. Steve still thought it was weird that he was now taller than his mom, but hugged her fiercely in return. "I'll see you in a few weeks, Mom, it'll be fine."

"It's going to be so lonely without you, Stevie."

"Mo-om…"

"I'm sorry, I know. You're a grown man now. I should… I should go, and let you get yourself settled. Be safe. Have fun, but not _too_ much fun. Call me when you can, okay?" Sarah asked.

"I will. Be careful on the drive home. Call me to let me know you got home okay," Steve told her.

Sarah laughed and swiped at her eyes. "I'm supposed to say that."

She kissed his cheek, hugged him one last time, and maneuvered her way down the hall, past all of the other incoming freshmen. Steve fought the urge to run after her for one more hug, and went into his room. Tony hadn't shown up yet, so Steve had been able to lay claim to a side of the room. His bed was already made, so he set about unboxing his clothes and putting them away.

Decoration-wise, he didn't have much right now. A school pennant, part of the move-in package, was displayed above his bed, and a few art prints. His new MacBook was already on the desk; it was a graduation present from his mother, and a fight it had been to get him to accept it. ("You'll need it for graphic arts, Stevie. I won't hear another word for it, except 'thank you'.") He didn't have any books yet; that was going to be a job for tomorrow, going to the library to pick up his borrowed textbooks. (What a relief that had been, finding out that you could just borrow seven hundred dollars' worth of textbooks from any university library in the state) He did have a floor meeting at seven that night, followed by some kind of welcome party. Freshmen orientation started in the morning at nine. All in all, his first week looked like it was going to be an easy start before the reality of college set in.

There was a knock on his open door (which was already emblazoned with "STEVE" and "TONY" cutouts hanging on jungle vines, to match the floor theme of "College: It's a JUNGLE Out There!"; Steve would have to have a word with the R.A. about what themes he was going to be choosing for the next few months). Steve looked up, and saw a girl in a black tank top and acid-wash cutoff shorts standing there. He blanched, and hurriedly shoved the stack of underwear he was holding into a drawer. "Uh, hi," he managed to say, hating his voice for choosing that moment to crack. "Can I help you with something?"

There was a nagging sensation at the back of his mind as the girl, her curling red hair piled up on top of her head in a perky ponytail, tilted her head in observation of him. "You're that kid from the tour. Roger or something, right?"

"Steve. Rogers, that's my last name. You're… Nadia?" Steve asked, his face screwed up as he tried to put a name to the face of the girl he'd only seen once, for ninety minutes, more than a year ago.

"Natasha."

"Nat—right, oh man, sorry. Hey. Wow."

"I told you I'd be seeing you around," Natasha said, smirking as she leaned against his door frame, arms folded across her chest.

"You did. Yeah. So uh… you live on this floor too?" If that wasn't the dumbest question he'd ever asked, he'd forgotten the dumber one.

Natasha didn't comment on it. "Over on the girl's half, yeah. I came around looking for the geeks setting up the internet, damn computer won't connect. You haven't seen one, have you?"

"About an hour ago," Steve gestured to his computer, which was now hooked up to the campus internet. "They'll be around again though, or maybe they're with someone. Did you check the computer lab?"

Natasha's eyebrows went up. "Ah, no. Good thought."

She turned as if to go, but stopped. "Hey, what's your Uni1000 class?"

Uni1000 was the freshmen orientation class; it was actually one of their regular classes, but the professor spent the first week getting everyone adjusted to university life instead of the course material. That would start the following week, when regular classes would begin. Steve picked up his schedule off the desk. "History of Japan, China, and India. You?"

A light bulb went off in his head at the smile she gave him; how had he forgotten that smile, the one that held a hundred secrets? "You want a wake-up call in the morning? We can grab something to eat before class."

Steve smiled. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

They traded numbers. She left then, resuming the search for a computer tech.

* * *

At 7:30 the next morning, his phone went off. Tony cursed loudly into his pillow. Steve blinked against the blinding light of the screen and saw a "Morning, meet by the elevator at 8 :)" text on the screen. "Jesus Christ on a hockey puck, don't tell me this will be a regular thing," Tony mumbled as Steve climbed down the ladder.

"Can't make promises I can't keep, Stark," Steve said. He grabbed his shower bucket.

"Fuckin' hell…"

"We've got class in an hour and a half anyway."

"Which means I could have slept for eighty-five more minutes."

Steve shook his head and hit the showers. He was ready and waiting by the elevator by 7:56. Four minutes later, on the dot, Natasha came strolling down the hallway with another redheaded girl; she was taller than he was, which would have been intimidating enough without the scrutinizing once-over she gave him as they came to a stop in front of him. "Hi," Steve managed to keep his voice level.

"Hey. Steve, this is my roommate, Ginny Potts. Ginny, this is Steve," Natasha said, pressing the elevator button.

Ginny nodded. "Hi. Any Harry Potter jokes are unwelcome, by the way. I got here first."

"Understood. Nice to meet you."

"Her class is in the BA building too, so she's gonna grab food with us," Natasha said.

The elevator dinged its arrival. A voice shouted from down the hall, "WAIT UP, ASSHOLE!"

Steve turned as Tony hopped down the hall, trying to get his shoe on the rest of the way. "I thought you were going to sleep for another hour," the blonde man said as his roommate got onto the elevator with them.

"I'm fuckin' starving," Tony grumbled, running his fingers through his still-wet hair.

Ginny and Natasha traded looks. "Friend of yours?" Natasha asked.

"This is my roommate, Tony. He's a self-described womanizer, so I feel it's my job to warn you ahead of time."

"Yo! Bros before hos, man!"

"This only furthers my desire to warn every woman on campus about you. Tony, this is Natasha and that's Ginny."

"From Harry Potter? Knew you'd turn out to be as tall as your brothers."

Steve glanced at Ginny; her jaw was clenched, her lips pursed. "That's really funny, you know. I've never heard that one before."

"Really? You'd think it'd be common," Tony said, oblivious to the icy tone in her voice.

"Yeah, maybe about as often as you get someone's foot up your ass," Ginny said.

Steve choked back laughter. Tony's not-quite-awake brain seemed to register that he'd said something wrong, as he kind of gaped at her for a moment before responding with, "Not as often as you'd think, most people don't go for that kind of kinky fuckery."

"I can't imagine why."

"You're a bit of a spitfire in the morning."

"You're a bit of a dick in the morning."

"Sweetheart, I'm more than a bit of a dick at all hours of the day or night. I'd be very happy to show you how true that statement is in every nuanced detail."

This was the longest elevator ride in the world for only going down six floors. Natasha was pointedly looking at the ceiling. Steve was slowly shuffling out of the range of fire if Ginny decided to deck his roommate. She looked about ready to, when they finally slowed and the doors opened. "Oh, thank God…" Steve mumbled as Ginny stormed out of the elevator.

"Chicks, huh?" Tony asked.

"No, I'm pretty sure that should be the baseline reaction for you," Steve said.

"We've known each other not even a full day, man; don't make too many rash decisions."

"I'm not, but I'm making a mental note to never be around you and women again."

"Good luck with that one."

Tony's Uni1000 class was on the other side of campus, so he opted to ditch them for a dining hall closer to class. Ginny was visibly happier about this arrangement, and Steve breathed a little easier. After bagels and cereal, they made the short walk over to the BA, where Ginny left them for her Intro to Business class. Steve and Natasha debated about where they should sit in the class; Natasha wanted to sit in the back for maximum snarking opportunities, but Steve knew he couldn't pay attention back there, and yet Natasha said that sitting in the front made you a target for everyone. They finally settled on third row seats in the small lecture room.

The class itself turned out to be less of a class and more of an eight-hour-with-breaks-for-snacks-and-the-bathroom icebreaker. They played weird games that got them to talk about themselves and what they expected out of college. Steve had to admit that he didn't know what he expected, he was just here because his mom told him he had to go to college, and he was going to do what he loved if that was the case. The professor then said something that would stick with him for years to come: "You'll be surprised, Steve, to find out that going into something with no expectations will often be the best decision you'll ever make, either consciously or unconsciously."

He found out that Natasha's father was a diplomat, and so she had been born and lived in Russia for the first eight years of her life. (He would also find out that because of this, Natasha would claim that she was Russian. On her 21st birthday he would find out that she would claim this made her unable to get drunk. All of these claims would be incorrect) She expected to 'waste' as much of her father's money as she could to do something _she_ wanted to do, rather than what _he_ wanted her to do, and enjoy herself while she did it. She sat back and gave him a little smirk when she was done.

The girl's wing of their floor had a group bonding dinner that night, so Natasha bid him farewell after class was over. Steve met up with Tony and Bucky, and Bucky's roommate Clint; Tony dragged them downtown to "get a feel for the nightlife". "Stark, it's not even six on a Monday. _What_ nightlife?" Clint asked.

"Okay, it's this or shitty dorm food. You pick."

They picked a bar. Tony mumbled something about a fake ID, but the townies knew only freshmen were in town right now. Still, the food was good. They bullshitted about life, and about an hour later the Indians were playing the Dodgers on the big screen above the bar, so Steve was happy. Neither Clint nor Tony knew much about baseball, (Clint claimed to be a hockey fan, and Tony said he'd rejected the notion of sports at an early age), so Steve and Bucky explained the finer details of the game between having one-sided arguments with the ref about calls. "Man, I don't get it," Clint said, downing his soda. "No one's getting the shit beat out of them, so what's the point?"

"Some of us weren't raised in a barn, Barton," Bucky grinned.

"Circus tent," Clint corrected. "Just wait until October, and I'll introduce you to the finer points of the gongshow."

Bucky raised his glass in acknowledgement, and Steve berated the ref for calling a ball obviously in the strike zone. Bucky chuckled, "I'll warn you, October's postseason and the Series. If you can get Steve to listen around all that, I'll buy you a beer."

Clint's grin was lopsided. "I'll take that bet."

* * *

They left during the seventh inning, with the Dodgers in a comfortable lead over the Indians, and made their way back to campus. Bucky and Tony were arguing about music as Steve pressed the elevator button. "If you don't think Stevie Nicks is one of the best singers of the last fifty years, I don't even want to _know_ you," Bucky was saying as Tony's attention wavered as about ten girls came up to them.

"Argument pause. Hello, ladies," Tony grinned and then winced as Steve smacked him upside the head.

"Leave them alone."

"So this is an all-day thing, huh?" Ginny asked, off to the side of the group.

"Looks that way," Steve answered.

"See if I ever wingman for you, Rogers," Tony grumbled, rubbing his head.

"He's got me for that, brah," Bucky grinned, and winked at the girls.

Steve backhanded Bucky on the chest as the elevator doors opened. Bucky wheezed slightly, winded, as Steve passed him. "I refuse to associate with the pair of you."

Clint, wisely staying out of it, joined Steve on the elevator. Natasha shadowed Ginny, and a few other girls pushed ahead of Bucky and Tony, filling it before they could get on. Ginny gave an exaggerated wave as the doors closed. "I'll hold if you wanna punch," Natasha offered.

Steve laughed in surprise. "Nah, it won't come to that. At least with Bucky… Verdict's out on Stark."

"Nothing wrong with wooing the ladies," Clint said. "Just don't be a weirdo about it."

"Thank you," Ginny said. A few of the other girls echoed the sentiment.

"Ginny, this is Clint. He's roommates with my friend Bucky, the other idiot down there. Clint, don't mention Harry Potter if you like breathing. And this is Natasha."

Clint gave a mock salute. "Pleasure. I'm sure we'll see each other around."

Steve missed the once-over Natasha gave him. The doors opened and they all piled out. "We're gonna set up Mario Kart in the lounge if anyone wants to join!" Clint called.

In the end, Steve, Clint, Tony, and Bucky were joined by Natasha and Ginny, as well as a girl named Maria. They set up tournament rules, and played until well after midnight. Natasha had actually dozed off with her head on Clint's lap by the time Ginny won the last race (Tony blamed the vertigo induced by playing on Rainbow Road). Ginny practically dragged her back to their room. "I'll text you in the morning!" Steve called after them. Natasha lifted her hand in acknowledgement.

"Leave off the hot peppers first thing tomorrow, Weasley!" Tony said.

Ginny lifted her middle finger. Tony chuckled. They had each other's measure by now, as only everyone who competes to the death in Mario Kart can.

* * *

After freshman week, they all established a pattern for their days. Steve, having scheduled most of his classes in the afternoons, found himself at the rec center in the mornings. Sometimes Bucky or Tony joined him, most of the time they slept in. Steve would have slept in as well, but for one of his art classes being scheduled for 9:30, with a long gap after. After a few weeks, it was more or less a habit.

Sometimes Natasha and Maria joined him for lunch in the student union. (Ginny had meticulously scheduled her classes with only a short break for lunch at 1:30, after most of the lunch rush, and when the rest of them were already in class) Occasionally, Clint would join them, but seeing as how it was usually noon, and his first class wasn't until 1:30, he was usually asleep. When he did see Clint, it was usually in line at Starbucks with Natasha.

As Tony was an engineering student, Steve expected him to be more studious, but this usually wasn't the case. Every Friday night without fail, he was dragging them out to bars downtown. Sometimes in the middle of the week as well, if he'd had a particularly stressful class—for that was how Tony blew off steam: swindling underage drinks, dancing with girls, and sharking upperclassmen at pool. What he hadn't counted on was Steve being absolutely abysmal at chatting up girls. "You can talk to Pepper and them fine! What gives!?" Tony asked him one night in the bathroom.

"First of all, she hates it when you call her Pepper."

"She doesn't hate _it_, she hates _me_. There's a difference. And at least I stopped calling her Weasley."

"Second of all, they're my _friends_. There's no _expectations_! You want me to flirt, to be… _you_! I can't do that!"

"Padawan. Grasshopper. This is why you're with me. To watch and learn from a master," Tony grasped Steve's shoulders. "Come on. When's the last time I had a drink tossed in my face?"

"Last week," Steve rolled his eyes.

"And what did I do wrong?"

"Where do I even start…"

"Ah, but you have a list. So don't do any of those. You're cute, kid, just stop stammering like an idiot. I'll give you some liquid courage," Tony held up his flask, which he'd smuggled in.

Steve shook his head. "No. I'll talk to a girl, but it's on my terms."

Tony shrugged, and took a swig. "Suit yourself, dude."

He was mostly grateful that if he did get lucky, Tony would spend the night at the girl's place. He wasn't sure how he'd handle that, though Bucky and Clint would probably let him crash on their futon.

October came, and with it Clint taught them the finer points of hockey. Steve barely paid attention, too caught up in the baseball postseason. Tony ignored both of them. Steve did remember a few things when Clint gave them a pop quiz on the subject, so Bucky had to find a way to buy him a beer. Before any of them knew it, it was Thanksgiving break. Steve and Bucky spent the weekend at home; Steve helped his mom get their apartment ready for Christmas, as was their usual tradition. She, and Bucky's mom, sent them back to school with a bag of leftovers each, and the thought of their finals in two weeks looming over their heads.

Even Tony buckled down over the next two weeks; Steve hardly saw him. Not that he was spending much time in their room either, coming home from the art building mostly to take a shower and change his clothes before going back, or changing locations to the library to study or work on his papers.

The Saturday before finals week saw a mass text message from Natasha: "Skybar tonite or my brain WILL EXPLODE :(" The feeling was mutual. Even Ginny, who wasn't much for going out, came, claiming that she would start screaming if she had to look at her econ book one more time.

Technically, two of Steve's finals were already done (art finals were always due the week before, he had been told, and he'd pick up his results during the scheduled "exam time"), but his brain was already feeling like it was made of marshmallows. He vowed to stay far away from Tony trying to woo anyone; he wasn't in the mood to wingman, or fall on any so-called "grenades". He was going to throw darts, maybe dance a bit, and forget that he was absolutely going to fail his other three exams.

Ginny ended up dragging him on the dance floor. Maria was doing something that maybe resembled dancing, and she punched Steve in the shoulder when he started laughing. Bucky, not far away, grinned at him over the shoulder of a petite brunette he was dancing with. To prove that he wasn't much better at dancing than Maria, Steve did the Macarena. She grinned, and shoved him. He responded by discoing. "PEPPERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" Tony shouted over the music, wobbling over to them and slinging an arm over Steve's shoulder. "There's my girl, you've been, you've been avoiding me!"

"Stark, you're drunk as fuck," Ginny shouted back at him.

"No'm not! Vodka's like water, it doesn't do nothing to you!"

"Who gave you vodka?!"

Steve knew where Tony kept his flask; he dug in the back pocket of his jeans. Tony yelped. "No homo, dude, fuck you doing?!"

"Shut the hell up," Steve scowled, giving Ginny the flask. It was empty; she put it in her handbag.

Tony staggered, almost taking Steve down with him. He didn't look too hot. "I'm taking him to the bathroom!" Steve yelled.

"I'm fine, douchebag," Tony slurred.

"Yeah, you're not."

They barged into the bathroom, and right in on Clint and Natasha making out; Clint's hand was under Natasha's skirt. Steve froze. Tony started laughing. Clint and Natasha separated quickly, Natasha tugging on the hem of her miniskirt. She didn't meet his eyes, and hurried past him. Clint scratched at his neck. "Is he alright?"

Tony wasn't managing most of his own weight. "Not really," Steve said. "He brought his flask. Plus whatever he swindled out of someone."

"What'd he have this time?"

"Vodka."

Clint groaned. "Dude…"

"M'fine…"

"Let me help you with him…"

Steve didn't know why he felt so weird at catching Clint and Natasha. It wasn't his business, after all. If they liked each other, have at it. He was glad for them. Wasn't he?

* * *

It was Friday, he'd just picked up his last final grade, and he was getting ready to leave, when Natasha found him. "Hey," she said.

Steve put down his suitcase. "Hi."

"Have you been avoiding me?"

He blinked. "No…"

"Liar. I've tried calling you and texting you since last weekend."

Steve grimaced, and held up his phone; the screen was shattered. He'd dropped it, and someone had stepped on it at the bar last weekend. "I must have forgot to mention it… I'm taking care of it over break."

Natasha huffed, and crossed her arms tightly. "Asshole… look, I'm sorry about the way you…"

"Don't mention it," Steve said hurriedly. He didn't want to hear her say the words. He still wasn't sure why it was weird, but he didn't want her to say it anyway. "Really, I should have knocked, but Tony…"

"Yeah. Well… I'm not sure what's going on with Clint, but I know I didn't want to say anything or make it weird with the group. You know?"

Steve didn't quite meet her eyes. "Yeah. No, it's fine. Really, I shouldn't even be surprised. You two are at the coffee place all the time together."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Because Barton's not a functioning human being without coffee, and he can't even get out of bed without someone hounding him…"

Steve chuckled. Natasha softened, her arms loosening. "We okay?" She asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't we be?"

This time it was she who didn't meet his eyes. "I dunno, I just… Don't scare me like that. Get your fuckin' phone fixed."

"I will. First thing tomorrow," he promised.

Bucky came in, whistling. "Come on, Rogers, if we want to beat the snow home!"

"Coming!" Steve called. He looked at Natasha again. "I'll see you in a few weeks."

She touched his arm, giving him a half-smile. "Merry Christmas, Rogers."

* * *

They had a very quiet Christmas break. Steve got a new phone. Bucky got snow tires on his truck. They both spent quite a bit of time working for Mac again. Steve didn't realize how sullen he was being until his mom sicced Sam on him the day after Christmas. "Your mom's worried, kiddo. Did something happen at school?" Sam asked as he beat Steve at Mario Kart again.

Steve sighed, putting down the controller. "No. Yes. I don't know."

"Relationship trouble?"

"I wouldn't put it like that."

"How would you put it then?"

"We all went out the weekend before finals. Tony got smashed. I took him to the bathroom. I found my friends Natasha and Clint making out."

Sam made the annoying noise that adults made when they knew they were right about something. "And you're down about it."

"Why, though? I should be happy they're together. I don't have a claim to anyone."

"Steve, you don't need me to tell you why you're upset about it," Sam said.

Steve said nothing, only picked up his controller again. They played through another cup race before he said, "I guess I thought… we found each other. Often. Unexpectedly. And I thought… I thought maybe there was a little more than that."

"That's the romantic in you talking, kid. But a realist would look at that and wonder why you didn't act on it."

Steve shrugged. "I guess I didn't want to ruin a friendship..."

"Well… you're gonna get that with anyone. Someone you meet at a bar that you're never going to see again, someone you're friends with. You just gotta have courage."

"Yeah, I'm a little low on that at the moment…"

Sam nudged him. "Well, then, the most you can do is just be happy for them. Be a good friend. You'll move on eventually."

He didn't know how to respond to that, so instead he just picked the next cup race.

* * *

With this newfound realization of a crush on Natasha, Steve was determined to bury his feelings and be happy for her and Clint. When the new semester started, he threw himself into his schoolwork with gusto; when he saw them, he was too tired to feel anything other than 'yay friends are here, friends mean no work'. He went out with everyone on the weekends, and kept his nose to the grindstone during the week.

This act lasted until mid-February, when Ginny of all people called him out on it. "Steve, did you really do that badly last semester? You're going to be dead by spring break at this pace."

"Huh? No, I did… fine. Mostly B's, a few A's."

"So why the sudden me-like enthusiasm for the library?"

Steve sighed, and then looked to make sure they were alone. "Look, keep this quiet, alright? I'm just… I'm a little jealous about Natasha and Clint, alright? So I'm just trying to do my best to forget about it."

"Wait, Natasha and _Clint_? I thought she… Oh my God, I'm going to _kill_ her!" Ginny gasped.

"Wait, you don't _know_?" Steve asked, incredulous.

"How did _you_ know?!"

Steve replayed, with minimal details, about what had happened last semester. Ginny huffed, looked peeved. "So that's where she's been… She keeps telling me she's training in the dance center. She's probably off macking on the carnie."

"Clint's not a carnie."

"You haven't heard his detailed list on things that can be fried and still be edible, then."

He sighed. "I have. I still don't understand the strawberries… Anyway, just keep it quiet. If you didn't know, then they definitely want this on the DL. I don't even think Tony remembers. But that's why."

Ginny peered at him, curious. "So which one are you jealous of? I can't get a read on you, you know, and my gaydar's pretty good."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Says every straight girl."

"So it's Clint."

"It's not, I'll have you know. Not that I wouldn't, but he's not it."

If the look she gave him had been pity, he would have gotten up and walked away. Instead, she covered his hand with hers briefly, and then went back to her own studying. Steve tried to, but found it hard to concentrate.

* * *

Tony had offered his parents' beach house in Florida for spring break, but Steve wanted nothing more than to sleep in his own bed for a week. He probably could have used a week on the beach, but he missed his mom. As penance, Tony had said, he would have to come down for a week in the summer. Steve had agreed.

The rest of the school year went by in a blur. The first Saturday in May, Tony surprised the hell out of all of them by making them watch the Kentucky Derby all day. Steve watched over his laptop (he had an English final due on Monday) as Tony explained how betting worked, the breeding of the horses, and what made the races interesting to begin with. Clint called it a rich kid's sport. Tony responded with a list of all the fights they'd had to watch during hockey season, which wasn't even over yet because it was playoffs. "That's the thing about poor kids' sports though. They're _fun_," Clint said, grinning.

Still, Clint was shouting louder than all of them when the Run for the Roses happened.

Soon enough, they were packing up their rooms and heading home for the summer, which went by even faster than the last semester; Steve managed to get enough time off from Mac to hang out with Tony in Florida for a week, where Tony tried to teach him how to surf. It didn't go well. When they came back in the fall, Steve and Tony were in an upperclassmen's dorm, sharing a suite with Bucky and Clint. Clint and Natasha were finally public about their relationship, which meant that Natasha hung out in their suite often.

People often said that sophomore year was the hardest, and Steve soon found out that this was true. Natasha being in their suite all the time turned out not to be much of a problem, as he was spending most of his time in the art building. More often than not, he was fighting someone else for the good couch to take a nap while the paint dried on one of his paintings. Ginny was the first of their group to have a mental breakdown, in the middle of October; she took more classes than any of them, and had a work-study job in the library. She simply vanished one Thursday. Everyone was worried sick about her, until she called around dinnertime on Friday and said she was sitting on a beach up in Michigan because her car had broken down and could someone please come get her?

Bucky went, with Tony of all people going with him. Steve, Maria, Natasha, and Clint stayed up all night waiting; it was a good six hours to where Ginny had said she was, plus the drive back. They put on movies, mostly for some kind of noise, because none of them were talking.

Around five in the morning, Natasha and Steve were the only ones awake. Steve kept checking his phone, wondering if it was a bad idea to call one of them to make sure everything was fine, or if he'd distract one of them from driving. Natasha lifted her head up. "Promise me if you break, you're not going to run away," she said quietly.

"As long as you promise the same thing."

"I can't do this again."

"Me neither."

"She won't drop any of her classes, but they're making her crazy."

"I know."

"And maybe… I haven't really…" She drifted off, her fingers combing Clint's hair.

Steve recognized the tone of voice. "Hey. You're not supposed to babysit her. We're all adults, whatever that means. You've got your own thing going on."

"What if there were breaking signs, and I missed them because I was here all the time?"

"She should have voiced them. At least she just drove six hours north, instead of something worse."

"You're awful at pep-talks, you know."

"Yeah. But at least I'm not pitying myself for something I couldn't prevent," he challenged.

She said nothing, only combing Clint's hair.

They got home around eight in the morning. Bucky waved off everyone's questions and went to bed; Tony did the same. Natasha and Maria took Ginny back to their suite; Clint and Steve looked at each other and shrugged, and went to bed too.

Whatever had happened wasn't really talked about after. Ginny, who started to go by Pepper after the incident, dropped two of her classes, and started to go to campus counseling at Natasha's urging. In November, Pepper said that while she was probably going to be in school for the rest of her life, she was going to only take five classes a semester, and at her advisor's insistence, one of them would be a "fun class". "You know. Underwater basket weaving. Something that might come in handy one day, but not related to my major, so I won't be too stressed about it."

The other thing that happened as a result of the incident was Natasha breaking up with Clint; Clint understood why. Tony had expected some kind of meltdown, but Clint was chill about it. "We're still friends, and I totally get it. Pepper needs someone else around. I'd do the same if one of you guys lost it."

"I'm touched, but no way would I give up getting laid for a friend," Tony grumbled.

Clint shook his head. Steve mouthed 'daddy issues' to Bucky, who nodded.

Fall semester rolled into spring, and they all went to Tony's beach house in Florida for spring break again. Tony teased both Pepper and Natasha for the SPF 50 they were using, until they knocked him down into the sand, yelling about hair color and skin pigment. Steve only chuckled from his spot under an umbrella, sketching the entire incident.

That summer, Tony was the only one to move into the house he was going to share with Steve, Clint, and Bucky; the others had to work at home to save up rent money. Tony spent his time taking extra classes and sending text messages about all the sex he was having in their respective rooms. Steve only believed about a third of them.

Pepper and Steve took a beginner's glassblowing class together that fall; they often signed up for shop cleaning shifts together. She would get exasperated with how often he asked her how she was doing. "I know you guys mean well, but between this, and how often Tony calls…"

"He calls?" Steve asked, surprised.

"Like, four times a day."

Steve frowned, his hand slowing as he wiped one of the pipes. "Really?"

Pepper blinked, swatting a loose strand of hair away. "Yeah. Why?"

"He just… he doesn't mention it."

"He wants to talk for an hour or something, but he never remembers my schedule… If I have to leave for class, he calls immediately after."

"He's worried about you."

"It was a year ago. I'm better now."

"Yeah but…" Steve took a new pipe. "Why'd you start going by Pepper, anyway? I thought you hated it."

She paused for a moment. "I… I dunno. When Tony and Bucky came and got me… I was a mess, right? I'm freezing on some beach in Michigan, and I've been crying, and my hair's a mess, mascara all down my face… Bucky stopped at a Cracker Barrel so I could wash my face and they bought me a jar of that apple pie filling they sell and I made myself half-sick eating it on the way home… And this whole time, Tony's just going on and on about how this wasn't the Pepper he knew; she was full of fire and rage and well… pep. Because he's Tony, and he talks until his teeth fall out, because he doesn't know how to have a real emotion, or how to react when someone else is having one.

"And somewhere along the way I realized, yeah, I don't like being like this. I need to be something new. Someone new. Names have power, right? So I took ownership of that. I'm Pepper Potts, and if you don't want to get burned, get the hell out of my way."

Pepper was staring out the window. Steve wanted to draw her more than anything else; her ponytail falling out, soot smutches covering her freckles, the intense look of a thousand emotions across her face. She was beautiful, and he knew immediately why Tony was calling her four, five times a day.

* * *

One morning in April, Steve was asleep on the good couch in the art building. Someone poked him. He woke up slowly, and then panicked when Natasha's face was inches from his own. "Jesus, Nat."

"Sorry. Clint said this is where I'd probably find you."

"S'alright… what time is it?"

"After eight."

"And you're alive?"

"Clint is very nice to me in the mornings," Natasha said loftily, and sat down on his legs. "It's about Tony."

"Oh, God, what happened. Is he in jail? The hospital?"

"Neither, surprisingly, but that's what I'm trying to prevent. Since we managed to get through the other twenty-first birthdays without incident, I was hoping we could do the same for his," she said, glaring at him when he snorted at the mention of her birthday. "My birthday went fine, thank you very much."

"Says the person who doesn't remember half of it."

"If you're referring to the—"

"Not that, the second time."

"I'll have you know it was completely within the realm of possibility that I could—"

"_Okay_," Steve drawled. "Next time you want to play Coyote Ugly, though, remember that I'm not always going to be there to catch you when you fall off the bar."

"Ridiculous. You'll always be there to catch me," she scoffed.

Her face fell a little. Steve shifted slightly, so his hand was now under his head. "Hey…"

"Nothing. So, Stark's birthday. End of next month. We'll all be in town. We should figure out a way to do this in a controlled setting, so he's not going wild with his newfound abilities."

"We'll just go to Downtown or something, and confiscate his cards, and make sure he can't open a tab," Steve said. "Or, better, tell the bartenders to cap the tab at fifty bucks or something. His dad'll appreciate a low credit card bill for once."

"Well, if _you've_ got all the answers…"

"Sorry, I just think he's going to want to go out and party. And I don't want to clean up a house party."

She eyed him sidelong. He swallowed hard. "I'm going to regret that come my birthday, aren't I?"

"Steve, your birthday's on the 4th of July. You were never going to escape it."

"Shit."

"I'll keep Clint away from the fireworks and the barbecue."

"How much of this do you already have planned?"

She only smiled that secret smile of hers.

* * *

It turned out that the only person they _didn't_ need to worry about on Tony's birthday was Tony. Clint got kicked out of the bar for starting a fight over the NHL playoffs (he was passionately against the Kings), so they had to go elsewhere. At the next bar, Pepper punched someone for groping her; they left mostly to go ice her hand, but also because Steve was thrown out for holding the guy for her. Bucky got cut off in bar three for doing shots with anyone who asked, and he was in the bathroom puking for a while. And at the end of the night, Natasha's credit cards were all declined, causing her to get into a huge fight at two in the morning on the phone with her father.

They were all on the street when she hung up. Bucky was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against a light pole. Tony, who had been drinking lightly for such a birthday, was re-wrapping an ice pack around Pepper's hand, scolding her for her poor punching form. Natasha kicked a rock across the street, and shuffled back. "I'm cut off. He'll pay for my part of the rent, and for school… but only if I change my major."

"Why'd he pick tonight, of all things?" Steve wanted to know.

"He must have looked at what I've been paying for. Nothing bad, just… lots of party-prep stuff… He thinks I'm not taking my time in college seriously enough. He thinks I'm going to ruin my life by doing what I love doing…" Natasha said.

He'd never seen her cry before, but she looked closer than he'd ever thought she might be. Steve hesitated, then put his hand on her shoulder. She leaned against him; he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. "It'll be okay. We'll… We'll figure out some way."

"I can't change now. I'm going to be a senior. I'll be in school for years if I change now."

"You can keep me company," Pepper said, smiling weakly to show she was joking.

"Pep, I love you, but this is not the time."

"I know, I know…"

Clint cleared his throat. "It's late, and Jamie boy here is going to pass out on the street. We can figure this out just as easily at home as we can here on a street corner."

He and Tony had to lift Bucky between them to get him back to the house. Steve kept his arm around Natasha. The girls crashed at their place for the night. Tony remarked that a truly good birthday would have ended with the three of them in his bed, but he was assaulted with pillows before anything else could be said.

* * *

Steve woke up the next morning to someone clattering around in the kitchen. He wandered downstairs in a cutoff and his boxers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "It's not even noon, the hell's going on…"

Natasha was rummaging in a cupboard. "You guys have zero food in this house."

"Ever hear of breakfast?" Pepper asked.

"It's a foreign concept around here. Be glad we even have a kitchen table. How's your hand?" He asked.

She held it out for him to see. "Nice bruises. You think it's broken anywhere?"

"No, but if the swelling doesn't go down I'll go have it looked at."

Maria lifted a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, opening it hesitantly. "How long have these been in there?"

"I bought them the other day, I'll have you know."

"Workout protein?"

"You got it."

"Good boy."

Natasha slammed the cupboard shut. "Nothing else. I hope everyone likes eggs."

Over breakfast, Steve faced the elephant in the room. "So… what are we gonna do about your dad?"

"We?" Natasha asked. "We're going to do nothing. I'll take care of it."

"Nat, we can help you," Pepper said.

"The day one of you guys can convince Nikolai Romanoff of anything he hasn't already convinced himself of is the day they carve your face on Mount Rushmore," the dancer muttered.

Maria pointed at her with her fork. "You could try to compromise."

"He doesn't know the meaning of the word."

The brunette rolled her eyes. "So teach the old dog a new trick. What's he want you to major in?"

"Politics. Business. Something he thinks is _useful_," Natasha punctuated her feelings by stabbing the yolk of her next egg.

"What are you going to do with a dance degree?" Pepper asked. "We've known each other for years, but you haven't ever given me a solid answer on this. Yes, it offers you steady training, but what's your actual five year plan?"

Natasha's jaw clenched, and Steve started to look for something to hide behind before she said, "I don't know what I want to do, nothing that's realistic. I want to perform. I want to be on stage. And that's it. Whatever it takes to get there, I guess."

Steve, Pepper, and Maria traded looks. Natasha saw. "Don't you start on it too. No one's ragging on Steve to do something realistic with his life, and he's a fuckin' _fine arts major_."

"Steve's putting a portfolio together for internships with animation companies though," Pepper said. Steve ducked his head; he'd been keeping quiet about that, only asking Pepper for advice on such things because that was what one did when they were around Pepper. "He's got a few plates spinning. If you can't get with a company, what's your next move? If you do get into a company, what happens if you get hurt? If you want to retire at thirty-five?"

Pepper was being hard, and walking the line between Natasha getting pissed off enough to do something about it and getting pissed off enough to shut everyone else out. One wrong misstep and the conversation was over. "I just want to dance. It's all I've ever wanted to do."

"So all we need to do is figure out how you can do that and live above the poverty line, so you can flaunt it in your dad's face and tell him to go eat a bag of dicks. Can we work on that today?" Pepper asked.

Natasha was quiet for a moment. Steve wasn't sure which way Pepper had fallen. Finally, she picked up her fork and speared a piece of egg. "I can't believe you actually just said that. You've been around Tony too much."

"I picked that one up from Bucky, actually," Pepper said, smiling. The tension at the table broke; everyone visibly relaxed.

Pepper worked with Natasha for the next week to figure out what she was going to do with, conceivably, the rest of her life. Steve went home to spend an early birthday with his mom, and Sam's family, so he missed the finer details, up to and including the phone call that apparently took three hours and made the Geneva Accords look like a disagreement about what flavor of ice cream to buy. Pepper even asked if she was sure she didn't want to switch to political science when Natasha hung up, but apparently being a politician's daughter came with both an innate ability to negotiate and a mean right hook—to the shoulder, Steve, and yes, she was fine.

"So… verdict?" He asked as they settled in for movie night with popcorn. He hadn't had a chance to talk to her personally since he'd gotten back.

"I'm sticking with dance as my major, but a business minor," she made a face. "And he wants me to go to grad school for an MBA… There's not a clock on that, though, so like… I'll work with that."

"Cool. So… business for why?"

"So I can open up a studio someday, and not run it into the ground."

"I'd think you'd just hire Pepper for that side of it."

Natasha smirked. "I said that, but she said that by the time I was going to open said studio, she'd be the CEO of a Fortune 100 company and thus too busy to deal with my abysmal money problems."

"Always nice to have friends."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "As long as I can count on you to design my promotional material…"

Steve exaggerated an alarmed face. "Oooh, about that…"

"You're a jerk," she laughed, nudging him again.

"Freeloader," he fired back, nudging her back.

Their eyes met. His breath hitched and he resisted the urge to glance at her lips; he'd kept his dumb crush on her silent and low for years now. Sure, he'd gone on a few dates, but no one had really clicked with him. At this point, even Pepper had stopped asking if he was ever going to make a move on her. He valued their friendship too much to ever ruin it—though every time he saw how easy she and Clint were with each other, he did reconsider.

Natasha looked away, the moment over. "Let's get this thing going already. I can't believe you've never seen _Blazing Saddles_. It's a cinematic masterpiece."

* * *

Finally, it was Steve's birthday. The morning of July 4th, Tony barged into his room, shouting "IT'S ABOUT GODDAMN TIME AMERICA'S GOLDEN BOY CAN GET DRUNK AND NOT HAVE A GUILT TRIP."

Steve shot him with a Nerf gun. Of course the only day Tony would be up before ten a.m. would be to celebrate something so ridiculous.

He was promptly kicked out of the house and told not to come back until after noon. Bucky offered to lend him the truck, but Steve declined. He actually rather liked the idea of spending part of his birthday in quiet solitude, wandering around town aimlessly. It would help him prepare for whatever insanity was being planned for later.

He called his mom, and then Sam and Mac, and finally found himself at the park. He sat on the swings, mindful of the groups of young children running around him. He kicked off a little, and stared up at the sky. He was probably supposed to be very thoughtful and thinking a lot about this new stage of life and what he expected from it. Really, though, he was mostly thinking how nice of a day it was, and how it wasn't too hot or humid, but the temperature probably wasn't going to drop tonight either. And he was thinking about fireworks, and wondering if Natasha had bought those really cool rainbow sparklers. Most of all, he was hoping Bucky would be grilling, because no one grilled a burger like Bucky.

Really, that was all it took to give him a good birthday.

When he got home, he was surprised not at the festooned backyard (he'd expected that), but at how few people there were. From the way Tony had been hinting all month, Steve expected at least a hundred people. And it was relatively early in the day, so perhaps people would show up for the campfire and fireworks later; but outside of their regular group there were only a handful of others, friends of friends, or people he knew from the art program or from intermurals he'd done over the years.

Bucky was grilling, wearing the "Fuck the Cook" apron Tony had bought as a gag gift last Christmas (which Bucky had been one-hundred-percent-unironically-smitten with). Natasha had sparklers of all kinds, from tiny white ones to the huge rainbow ones you had to stick in the ground and then light. Tony had a vodka-spiked watermelon. Clint had his appetite, and spent most of the time hovering around Bucky. Pepper handed Steve his first legal Jell-o shot, and no one was happier than Tony when Steve downed it easily.

It was a good birthday.

Other people trickled in as the sun went down; Tony cranked up the music. Clint got the campfire going and produced enough marshmallows to feed an army. Natasha revealed her secret stash of semi-illegal fireworks to set off.

Around ten, Steve was leaning against the fence with a beer, watching and waiting to see who would blow their fingers off first: Clint or Bucky. Natasha joined him. "You sure you can leave them unsupervised like this?" He asked, nodding to the fireworks.

She shrugged. "They're grown men. And I have 911 on speed dial."

"Comforting."

"Well, when else would I be able to give you your birthday present?" She asked.

Steve looked down at her. "You bought a small fortune in explosives, you didn't need to get me anything."

She grinned. "Dummy, those are for the holiday. This is for your birthday. There's a difference."

"Alright, what—"

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He froze for a moment, then slowly bent down, his arm going around her waist to hold her in place or keep himself grounded and not run away—he wasn't sure. There were shouts from the other side of the yard, and a firework went whistling off into the sky. She pulled her head back and looked up at him. "Happy birthday, Steve," she said softly.

"I should have done that ages ago," he said.

"Why didn't you?" she asked, but stopped him when he opened his mouth. "No, I know. Pepper told me, you didn't want to mess anything up."

"_Pepper_ told you?" He asked, looking around to where their friend had vanished to.

"Don't get mad at her. I think she got sick of us dancing around the subject, and she knew she could needle you for weeks and nothing would come of it."

"Still, she… wait, both of us dancing around a subject?" Steve asked.

Natasha punched him gently in the arm. "Dummy. I've had a massive thing for you for years. Practically since we met on that tour."

"Seriously?"

"Well… yeah."

"So why didn't _you_ do something about it?"

She shrugged. "You were good at acting like you weren't interested." She leaned her head against his chest. He held her tightly. "We're both kind of dumb, huh?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, but we can do that together now."

"We kind of already were."

"Well, now there's kissing involved. I like that part."

"Me too," she said, and proved it.


End file.
